loss
“The people we most love do become a physical part of us, ingrained in our synapses, in the pathways where memories are created.”
— Meghan O'Rourke
There is nothing, really, to be done about grief, except ride it out like a surfer rides the waves. Grief does come in big splashy I'm-gonna-drown-you waves. There is an aphorism that time heals all wounds, but when we've faced profound loss, we learn that time doesn't quite make it all better. Instead the waves calm down a little and our brokenness heals and scars. But I'm not going to kid you, the sea can be punishing, even years later.*
When facing loss, there is some utility in checking out various support tactics and the internet abounds with advice for the grieving. One of my favorites is from Good Grief Center, which more or less says that the grief process has run its course when you feel weary of rehashing events and memories and finally accept the facts as they are. Having weathered some heinous grief in my day, I can say the the process is never truly over; it just gets easier over time and the spurts of raw pain subside into something like nostalgia. Another favorite is from the wonderful Elephant Journal's post of a field guide to falling out of love (it's amazing how death and break-ups can feel the same). Of that list, I take most comfort from the reminder that "infinite possibilities and memories and sufferings" made us who we are today.
This is an old hymn from my Christian childhood that comes to mind, with which I've taken some liberties here, so apologies to the anonymous author, and to my mother who sang it to me with the originally-gendered lyrics.
Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall She unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern She has planned.
I'm not a surfer or weaver, but I am a quilter. I'm famous for never really following the recipe (see adaptation to hymn lyrics above) or never succumbing to a pattern (see my life in general), which means I'm never quite sure how things will turn out. Finishing a quilt does two things for me when it comes to grieving a loss. This one ("Lily's Quilt") has 1) helped me productively channel my energy without totally diverting me into mindless distraction (See Good Grief's tip number five) and 2) allowed me to see a happy outcome in what started as an entirely random set of scraps, reminding me that all the experiences of our lives can add up to something lovely and interesting if we let them.
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*NOTE: Grief can be disruptive of lifestyle, perspective on the world and even basic beliefs about life. It can also create lasting psychological damage and overwhelm ordinary human adaptations to life if not dealt with tenderly. Please seek professional help in the face of any kind of trauma where recovery seems at all difficult.
