Moving in with Grief

Is it just me or does it seem to be ever-present?

You’re asking me to move through this grief?

Okay, well tell me this…

Is it even possible to get to the other side?

Or does moving through it mean something else?

Perhaps more like moving my body and re-setting my sites

In spite of it, during it, under its occupation.

The loss of loved ones creates a cultural shift.

Involuntary forfeiture of a part of the Self.

An identity forever changed.

Thrown into a new dimension, I feel like a foreigner.

I am traveling in a foreign land, unsure how to navigate.

Maybe I’m the occupier and Grief is my host.

Why am I here?

What does my host have to offer me?

Well, I suppose if I am a good guest

I will wipe the muck off my shoes,

And maybe even take them off.

Afterall, these shoes no longer serve me

In Grief’s house.

Maybe I will help in the kitchen.

All those serving plates

Full of new flavors I have never tried

New recipes, new appliances, new pots and pans

I do like stirring the pot.

But I also need to help with the dishes

Washing away the remaining scraps of what is no longer possible,

While preserving the morsels of that which will sustain me

Moving forward.

Yes, I miss my old life and my loved ones

Sometimes I can’t breathe, I miss them so much, but I keep moving.

Move from the entry way where the loss tied me up in knots.

Move to the kitchen to be nurtured by an ever-present Love and Guidance.

Move to the bedroom for rest and relaxation.

Move to the bathroom for release and cleansing.

I can stay as long as I want,

But I’ve learned not to linger too long

in Grief’s house...

Get moving, I admonish myself.

There are new shoes to try on

New paths to explore

New people to love

New grief to experience… wait, WHAT?!!

There it is again, ever-present,

Hosting parties of loss and pity, and eventually renewal, but really?!!

While I may be in denial, angry, bargaining, depressed, or accepting

I must never forget: Grief is my host.

While in Grief’s house,

I find out that I am under joint custody with the neighbor,

Joy, who wants me to come live with them

And to build a life with them.

And as I go between the houses of Grief and Joy

I get wet.

The dark clouds come

The tear drops fall

Sometimes in buckets

But it’s okay, I won’t melt.

And the sun WILL come out again, I promise myself.

Sometimes the sunrise in a foreign land

Just looks and feels different.

Grief and Joy are neighbors

No matter where I reside,

I am resolved to be a good guest

I am resolved to be a good neighbor

So, I remind myself:

Do not forsake Joy for Grief

Do not forsake Grief for Joy

Be fully present with your current host

Understand fully the strengths of their hospitality.

As a traveler in a foreign land, I know only this…

The landscape will continue to change evermore

That’s just how it is,

With every devastating loss and

With every enchanting and exciting encounter

I just keep moving… through it all.

Next up: Grief and Joy walk into a bar…