Clarity, Not the Companion
The grief process is not done with us yet.
Some say it may never be done, that it simply evolves and takes shape, takes root in our lives as a stop upon which we have once landed, a place through which we traveled. It will always be in our narrative, in our back pocket, in our story. Some say this. Though it is not quite clear what this means yet until you encounter your own grief journey, your own grief guide and companion leading you along your way.
Grief leads us out of relationships. It leads us out of scenarios and circumstances and into desolation, into desert, through destruction, and sometimes into despair. Grief drives us when we are unwilling to go, dragging us by our heels (more honestly, our hearts) towards an uncertain and unfamiliar future. We have left something behind; we have been left behind.
My divorce grief has been an especially complicated journey. After the rupture, I quickly realized the unhealth in our relationship, the misery we were both tangled up in, the abuse growing from the unhealthy soil of our shared dynamic. We broke for good reason, we dissolved in the slow and steady turning away of the last two years. I learned soon after our rupture that I did not want to go back the way I came. Grief was no longer dragging me along; if it was you I was leaving, I could put one foot in front of the other by myself. I thought this meant that Grief’s companionship would be swift, our road would be short, and that moving on would be rather precise and clear.
The further I got down the road, the more I felt both lighter and also emptier. I had left behind pieces of myself as well, pieces I didn’t realize were all intertwined in the process. Pieces of myself I had given, and enjoyed giving. Pieces of myself I had encountered in and through the soil of our marriage and relationship. Pieces of myself I had created with your encouragement and audience every step of that creative journey. I had to go back.
Grief continues to nudge and drag me along, promising me that she has packed for my journey and I have everything I need. She promises me that there will be some things that I won’t find again until I am ready to find them, some things that are with me but it will take me a while to locate them among the desolation, some things I need to re-learn how to have now that it is just me. I say I trust her but internally I know I do not; what if some pieces of me are left with him forever, and I have just abandoned them?
The time and road passes and I sometimes wonder if grief has left me. Some days she is no where to be found and I celebrate a little. I wonder if our journey together has ended, and I look ahead with wonder and glee. She has never quite left me, I slowly realize.
Sometimes I wonder if having Grief journey alongside me means I will never again journey with another. She is the child of my divorce and my marriage; will her constant presence mean I will never again be open enough to love another? Will another be able to receive her and I together, and learn and honor the road she and I have journeyed together? Will I become someone too big to ever again be able to fit into a relationship with another? Will the waves and road Grief has walked me along be welcomed by another?
Grief is surprising and fascinating in what she takes and what she gives. She opens the capacity for love by breaking apart the heart and mandatorily revealing a vast dimension of feeling and the ability to hold and sit in pain. She shatters the expectations of the future and perfection; I grow accustomed to a diet of flexibility and being present with myself and others. Grief turns me into a pilgrim, ready to receive the day and myself, knowing that I cannot predict what my needs and space might be from moment to moment. Grief teaches me about my triggers, the things that still sting when touched. Innocuous phrases and life situations become laced with anxiety as my broken and grief stricken soul begins to acclimatize to this new ecosystem.
Those who have not walked through grief may interpret her presence and the fruits of her company in a narrow sense. They may believe I pine for my now ex-husband, wishing the marriage were still in tact. They do not realize that though this layer was shed early on and long ago, there are still layers of what the relationship was, who I was, what I experienced, what I contributed, and what life after loss looks like that continue to inform and be taught by Grief herself.
They do not understand that in grief, a soul can need clarity though it no longer craves the companionship.
A body can crave companionship while no longer desiring the specific person with whom they once (thought they) created this.
A heart can rage and feel fury without still having feelings for someone.
A mind can long for support and help with logistics without desiring the old loyalty of the former (imagined) partnership.
Grief once again assures me that she has packed everything I need for the journey; she urges me along.
She assures me that in my body,
In my heart,
In my soul,
And in this road,
I have all that I need.
They are my Teachers, and they will teach me which steps to take next.
They will teach me how to reclaim what I worry was left behind.
They will teach me each day about the space I need to encounter myself.
They will not tell me what I will need tomorrow.
They will not prepare me for what may come up along the road.
Like manna in the desert, they give me only the next step ahead, the needs and nourishment for today’s journey.
In them I am home,
In them I am equipped,
In them I am myself, fully and presently.
She assures me that I do not need to worry about who will be alongside me, or whether they will receive me.
She assures me that learning to be kind to myself and welcome the Teachers is what will empower and inform me to be a kind and welcoming friend to others, and honor their Teachers, as well.
She assures me that others who know how to honor their Teachers will not be threatened by the journey Grief and I take together.
Grief once again assures me that I have everything I need for the journey; she urges me along.
The road walks us through significant dates, dates that once held meaning, still hold memory.
The dates now feel as though energy once established to flow in a certain direction now spews out recklessly; water and energy is being lost as the reception of it has been abandoned. The once sturdy infrastructure now destroyed, the irrigation system of our emotional ecosystem obliterated. Water goes everywhere.
I work to slow the flow of that water energy, knowing that there will never be a repair to this infrastructure and irrigation system. I build here no more; I return the flow of emotional investment within myself; this resource will be invested elsewhere. But I rage and fume at the need to clean up the mess. I rage and fume at what seems an implicit statement of value on the infrastructure that once stood here.
I try to remember that someone else does not get to decide the worth and value of what I have to offer. They can receive, they can choose not to receive. I am the one who decides the worth and value; and I can give elsewhere.
Grief helps me clean up the mess. As the water spills everywhere like a damaged fire hydrant, she mops up the mess and brings a bucket to collect the flow. She keeps refilling the bucket as I slow the process, working hard to gather and collect and keep every ounce of emotional energy I haven’t yet successfully dammed up. She is making sure none of it is lost, and gives it a space to be received. She knows its value; she does not let it be discarded or forgotten.
We continue along the road; I breathe more deeply knowing that what I have to give Grief honors and carries for me. I do not need to stop giving, I just need to stop giving where I once gave.
Grief once again assures me that she carries everything I need for the journey; she urges me along.
Often I worry about those also affected by the rupture. How are they processing? Will I lose them along this road?
Honor their Teachers, Grief tells me.
She does not let me leave my road.
Grief once again assures me that she has everything I need for the journey; and that she has everything they need for theirs.
She urges me along.
The longer we walk, the longer Grief and I have our own milestones and anniversaries to observe. Most are a combination of celebration and mourning. I have been on this road long enough to know I trust it and I am where I need to be, but I still sometimes find myself angry and hurt that I had to begin this road in the first place. I do not long for where I was, for this road has made me more into the person I want to be. But I lament the need for rupture in the first place, and I lament the circumstances that preceded the rupture. I lament that I was injured, and that I once had an infrastructure where my investment wasn’t valued as it should have been.
Grief has returned my worth to me in abundance, but her existence reminds me that once I dwelled in a place where I was not a whole person; that I once dwelled in a place where someone asked me to be small.
Grief has returned my wholeness to me, but her existence reminds me that I once dwelled in a place where I was incomplete, small, wounded, and afraid.
Grief has returned my joy to me, but her existence reminds me that I have known and now feel great pain at loss, at injury, at the brutal parts of this life.
Grief has returned love to me and led me towards more abundant love than I ever imagined, but her existence reminds me that my imagination was once so small.
Some days I lament that Grief is my rescuer.
Some days I lament that Grief is my hero.
Some days I lament that Grief honors me better than I once honored myself.
Some days I feel both gratitude and hatred towards her. It is hard to sit with the reason she exists and the reason she and I walk together, while also feeling much appreciation for all the walking we have done and all the places this road has brought me and all the lessons this road has taught me.
Grief smiles at me with grace and understanding.
Grief assures me I have all the space I need for the journey.
She urges me along.
On this road there is all the space I need, Grief reminds me,
To struggle,
To bleed,
To pick up pieces,
To leave pieces behind,
To encounter myself,
To mourn,
To celebrate,
Sometimes at the same time.
I have all the space I need,
To love,
To fight,
To lament,
To wrestle,
To sit,
To cry,
To be uncertain,
To be confident,
To be wrong about what I need,
To be right about what I need.
I have all the space I need,
To hear my own voice,
To listen to my heart,
To listen to my cries,
To not have the words,
To have all the words,
To be afraid,
To encounter comfort,
To receive wisdom,
To cherish love,
To dance with another.
I have all the space I need,
To learn from my Teachers,
To acknowledge my past,
To craft my future,
To embrace my present,
To befriend my feelings,
To honor my whole story.
I have all the space I need,
To build what I need,
To encounter what I desire,
To destroy what no longer serves light and love,
To create with another,
To journey with another.
Grief once again assures me that she has packed everything I need for the journey; she urges me along.
