Growing through grief

Life has gotten in the way of my writing, but now writing is going to help me process life.

For the past several months, I’ve been dealing with a family situation that occupied much of my time and energy. In the past few weeks, that situation has dominated my days. Finally, I am emerging from the fog, and in the process, trying to revive my creativity, because I know from past experience that creativity heals me and strengthens my mental health.

I do not wish to share too many details about my situation, but I’m willing to say this: I’ve lost many nights of sleep to worry and uncertainty. I’ve lost many hours to packing and driving and drive-thru meals. I’ve lost my father, a man I didn’t always understand but still dearly miss. I’ve lost my beloved dog, who came to me years ago when I was grieving and left me with more to grieve.

But even in the haze of grief and fatigue, I am growing. I’ve learned that managing change is always hard, but especially so when that change involves facing our own mortality. I’ve learned that while I thrive on “to do” lists and crossing items off of those lists, grief does not fall neatly into bullet points, and the affairs of one person’s life are not so easily categorized and concluded.

I’ve learned that while I’ve lost much, I possess even more. I’ve been surrounded by kind words and cooked meals, virtual hugs and physical affection, cards of encouragement and calls of comfort. While I sat in a hard wooden pew listening to “Amazing Grace” and studying my father’s dress blue uniform hanging at the front of a funeral chapel, I glanced to my right and left and found strength and comfort in my grown children, one bearded and all much taller than me, as well as dear friends and family who traveled many miles to be by my side. Now back home on my farm, which is too quiet without the deep throated bark of my German Shepherd, I no longer take for granted the warm, soft fur and happy tail wags of our small, neurotic but adorable, Poomeranian.

The past few months have reminded me once again of a lesson I know but too often neglect, that I must appreciate the present, with all of its smells, sounds, and feels. That I must invest in the people who are important to me. And that I must continue to run and breathe and stretch myself out on my yoga mat. The author Margaret Atwood recently said on Kelly Corrigan Wonders (a podcast fav), “There is no ‘the rest of our life’. There is today, tomorrow, and the rest is unknown.” I agree, and am learning to embrace uncertainty, but I feel pretty sure that running and yoga will help me with whatever unknown awaits me.

Facing one’s mortality, and the mortality of those we love, doesn’t have to shut us down. It should inspire us to rise.

At my father’s service, the pastor gained my immediate respect when he quoted Emerson’s comments on success. I’d like to share them here.

“What is success? To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate the beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch Or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

What are the things that inspire you to rise and to appreciate the present?

Thanks for getting thoughtful with me,

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