It’s hard getting started, as usual, this morning, but I manage to stomach some coffee; and praise be to God, Chad is home today. Chad defends my need to play George Winston to the boys, rather than Lady Ga Ga. He is tender and sweet all through the morning, asking me what I need. And mostly, I don’t know what I need – until my cousin knocks on our front door: she’s crazy in love and is here to tell us about it. I pour us each a glass of sparkling water and add some lime slices and sprigs of lemon verbena. We sit out on the deck in two anorak chairs, soaking up the day’s generous sunlight. Tell me all about it, I say.
I don’t realize it at the moment, but really, I am asking for a distraction. I am asking to be elsewhere, outside of my grief. It has occurred to me, as subtle and silent as it can be, grief is hard work; it is exhausting; depleting. It is work I have been committed to for days; and the road ahead feels long, yet.
My cousin’s vivacity explodes in every direction – like fireworks, her being ablaze with her first true love. I relish the display – every minute of it, in fact: her hands pressed upon her heart, her dark eyes widening as she speaks, her shiny, black hair swaying in a delicate breeze. I invest my mind in the stories of the amazing first date, the magic kiss, and all of the Rumi poetry a girl could want. Love indeed. I delight in this vibrant twenty four year old sitting before me. Simultaneously, a question from somewhere in the depths of me whispers: what about Steve?
The thing is about the grief, it never actually leaves; instead, it occupies a ghostly sort of space beneath the conversation. Underneath the sensation of seltzer bubbles on my tongue, beneath the scent of lime, beneath the sound of my own voice, my own laughter, the grief remains, somehow insisting on itself. There are even a few moments where I feel I am betraying my grief by soaking up these rays of sunshine. But I let these thoughts pass, figuring this entire process is foreign to me; figuring I am going to need to be led some – by unexpected visits from cousins in love and the like. So I allow my cousin’s stories to infuse me with a contagious sense of joy and hope and wonder – things I haven’t felt for days.
I have decided that at least for today, distraction is a grace, for which I am very thankful.
And that is life...with grief. Because while death may come slow or swift life continues to exist and move on. Your children will be who they are with that need for Lady GaGa to beat through the house with the walls vibrating away. The scents that invade our senses, the textures we like and dislike, touch of your loves hands on you. You want to think it isn't right because of the grief. Yet what it says is life will move on whether your heart is ready or not. Needs will need to be met, guests will come, phones will ring, shopping must happen, home and hearth need to be tidied up. Yes and you will heal your heart ....with time...and the memories will come that bring smiles more than tears. All will be well...in time.
ReplyDeleteDeath is not the end
Death can never be the end.
Death is the road.
Life is the traveller
The Soul is the Guide
Our mind thinks of death.
Our heart thinks of life
Our soul thinks of Immortality.
~Sri Chinmoy~
Shannon,
ReplyDeleteKeep writing! While many go through grief and we can see ourselves in your grief, it is so refreshing how you can create a whole world with your down to earth style of writing. You put not airs on, you just get to work. I often feel like I know you even deeper when I read your work and it's because you speak the words of a creative soul who can capture the vivid essence with your poetic writing. The world needs to hear what you have to say, and I wish I had your writings to read to know that my own grief was normal. The connection you speak of those who understand and those who don't in the Trader Joes, is a feeling I lived for a long time when my dad passed suddenly. Many walk through grief alone and how wonderful it is so hear your story, while I know it is painful for you...please keep writing. My advice for your grief is just keep writing! We will talk latter and I'll bring my big blanket. I really think that you should just keep writing. Did I repeat myself again....lol!
Sending you sweet love~
Lori Singer
Shannon, you've done it again. You've captured these stages of grief so beautifully. While I am so sad for what you are going through, expressing yourself through your writing seems to be helpful process for you and it is definitely a gift for us as you share what is on your heart in such beautiful prose. Laurie would be proud! :-)
ReplyDeleteI wholeheartedly agree with you. Grief never really goes away. I wrote about that recently myself. Time being a healer sure made for a lovely Eva Cassidy song, but hasn't been true for me. However, things like distraction and time are something to be thankful for, they help and they are definitely OK. Love to you, friend!