What Grief Did For Me
I have not lost as much as other people have. Is there a hierarchy of grief? Certainly there is in pain– losing a limb in war surely hurts more than a stubbed toe. And for emotional pain, having a loved one die hurts more than guilt or embarrassment. There are many dimensions of grief. When I had my losses, I had never experienced anything like that before. Pain so deep I could not function – could not get out of bed, could not eat, could not talk with anyone. Really I don’t think I had experienced grief at all before. I knew enough about meditation and feelings to know I shouldn’t avoid them or try to drown them, distract myself with addictions – alcohol, food, sex, relationships. I knew I needed to just sit with it. So that was a victory even though it felt like misery. In the loss I realized I was desperate, and somehow the pain opened a new door for me– one that I had dismissed and ignored in the past. Twelve Step recovery. I didn’t understand the land or people behind the door. But it was better to feel pain with other people who had felt it too. I kept going. It took a long time and hard work, years, before I could function well. I had to earn money to live. Somehow I found work I could do again. I picked an easy job, so I could have social contact again and have a new place to live that didn’t remind me of my losses. The job was hard anyway. Every night I came home from work and stared at the wall. Eventually the pain began to lessen. I could go longer between the bouts of incapacity. I still could not tell when it would happen. Mostly, anyway. It would come at random times. At the beginning I had gotten into car accidents when it came. Eventually I learned to pull my car over at the side of road and wait for it to pass, to not drive when I was crying or overwhelmed with grief. Often I would sit in the dark, alone at the side of the road, rain pounding the windshield for what seemed like an eternity. Sometimes it was twenty or thirty minutes, sometimes it was an hour or longer. I learned to sit there even after the crying stopped to settle my mind. I had to make room in my schedule. Not make appointments. I was fortunate to have a job where I could take a break if the grief came up, and work longer another time when my mind was calmer. Outside the rooms of Twelve Step fellowships, no one understood or related. Or else they didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to burn out my friendships, endlessly talking only about the pain and grief, but I could talk about it in the rooms. They were a lifeline. Sometimes there was a pattern. Driving home the same way from the grocery store, I would make it to a certain place, the same place every time, when the grief would overwhelm me and I had to stop driving and wait. It was a place I had sat and held hands with her. I kept driving that way anyway, maybe knowing not avoiding it would help. At some point I tried to start dating again, haltingly. A person I went on a date with was kind to me. Leaving, after dinner, the grief came and again I sat in my car a block from her house for a long time waiting for it to pass. I came to know it would come when people expressed kindness to me. I read poetry that spoke to me, over and over again, memorizing the words. Rumi speaking of the sorrows violently sweeping my house empty. Naomi Shihab Nye writing of only kindness mattering anymore. Antonio Machado telling of the water of a new life that I had never drunk. Afterwards, it had burned through something in me. I could experience grief and live. We had gotten to know each other. How good that you have come again to visit, my friend. We will sit together, you and I, in silence. Sitting in silence like you can with someone who shared an experience that changed you both forever. Universe, whatever you want me to feel, I will feel. What you want me to do, I will do. I have become someone different. My will is not so important anymore. I fear pain less, and desire humility more than ever. Perhaps that is why, now years later, I wanted to write about it. I don’t believe in God. But like Machado says, I did find God here in my heart. Faith. Kindness. Humility. Mystery. How can there be magic in grief? Why did I experience the grief? I would not have chose it. But I care about people more. And myself. What is it to love now? Acceptance. Trusting myself. Trusting the Universe. Following my vision, intuition, and spiritual guidance no matter what. Letting my light shine out. Wanting to be with people who let their light shine out too. It isn’t always easy. But in some small way, sharing that light of kindness.
What about mine? Losing a person I loved. Losing another one. There was no death involved.
