Posts Tagged ‘grief’

Peace shares space with pain.

Friday, May 14th, 2010

There are simply no words in the human language to describe the feeling when one moment there is a life that contributes so immensely and immeasurable to the definition of your world and then the very next moment that life is over. Death isn’t designed to give us time, to prepare us. Life doesn’t teach us how to live without someone we love.  We spend our lives creating attachments, loving connections, and interweavings with others. Then death thunders in filling every corner. In a single heartbeat, dissolving what you’ve known to be true. Leaving you in anguish. Alienating you in a unrecognizable world.

Hallmark says  ”but you’ll always have your memories deary.” Memories are for our minds. What about our heart and soul? How do they live on?

As my mind threatens to break my soul for it cannot accept nor comprehend the separation, something else begins to appear. To my surprise, standing quietly at the edge of  the horror,  patiently waiting for the anguish to be hushed, moving so gently as not to intrude, an absolute sense of peace sits down next to the anguish. And of course my pragmatic mind is all over this stranger. Interrupting its exquisite song like halting a symphony mid crescendo. Yet the undeniable sense of this peace is too powerful.  The absoluteness of its exsistence makes it impossible for my mind to argue against it. So I let it in, for the moment. I choose to believe in it. And the comfort is divine.

For me, after a loved one dies, the peace doesn’t come and stay indefinitely.  However, it does share space in my life with the pain. 

Carrie

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Allowing how we live to guide us in how we grieve.

Friday, May 7th, 2010

This morning I’m writing in the sun, which is promising to be 73 degrees today. I love this time of year. The jasmine growing up our veranda is blooming. I love the deep glossy green leaves and delicate white star shaped flowers. But mostly I love the scent. To me it is the essence of California.

My daughter built a tent in our front room. It is a mini Taj Mahal. The architecture is very clever – symmetrical and solid. She has been literally living in there since our dog died. She sleeps, does homework and listens to her music in there. If I want to see her I have to crawl inside and visit her in the tent. I was starting to wonder if I should worry about her as it is day nine since Utah passed. But yesterday when I went to visit her in this magical place, I understood.

Our dog’s death is her first up and close experience with mortality. Living in the tent is her way of coping with the death. In her own creative way she constructed comfort. The tent provides immediate respite from the rest of the house which is full of memories and reminders of her beloved companion. Her Taj Mahal is a mental, emotional and physical bubble. Within this bubble she can, in manageable doses, grieve.

When we grieve some of us may need to hold onto life as it was exactly before. Others may need to redefine parts or all of their existence. And some of us may simply need to live in a tent for awhile.  In life my daughter is creative and unique. She does very little  in an ordinary way. And now, she is allowing her unique personality and creative approach to life to define how she grieves.  I like this idea: Allowing how we live to guide us in how we grieve.

Carrie

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