Saturday, May 12, 2012

Grief is Sad.

Grief is Sad. Sounds like a no-brainer doesn't it?

Well, I've come to a realization tonight. I've come to realize that there are people in my very close community who think that I'm going off the deep end. Who think I'm in some kind of downward death spiral. But I'm not. I'm bereaved. I'm grieving. And grief is sad.

I've also come to realize that people don't really know what a grieving mama looks like. Because, well, even I am getting put into a box. A box that's labelled too sad, downward spiral, shaking my fist at God, bitter, prickly, unpleasant, unloving...

And what I'm coming to see is actually how upsetting it is to me to be labelled that way because then I want to start pretending that I'm not as sad as I really am. Then, even I, as forthright as I am, want to start squirrelling my grief away into a safe corner where no one can see it. Where I can go and give it succour in private. Where I can let the tears come in the dark and in the quiet and alone. And then if I do these things...if I hide away in my corner to nurse my grief...then the rest of the world who only sees the public me will think that that is what grief looks like.

But that wouldn't be true. That is not how grief looks. Grief is sad. Grief is hard work. Grief is exhausting. Grief is uncomfortable. Grief is unpleasant. Grief is selfish. Grief is scary. Grief is lonely. And the only way to make amends with Grief. The only way to take Grief by the hand and learn to walk with this uninvited and undesirable companion is to give Grief it's due. To be sad. To work hard. To be exhausted. To be uncomfortable. To be unpleasant. To be selfish. To be scared.To be lonely. Only then can you and Grief be companions. And when you've learned to be a companion to Grief, then you can start to look outside yourself and begin to see others. Only then can you start to be comfortable with Grief. Only then can you sometimes put your feet up and have a cup of coffee with Grief. Only then can you start being generous again...with your time, with your abilities, with your emotions, with yourself.

I am learning that right now Grief and I are still getting to know each other. Sometimes I am so sick of Grief. I wish I could kick Grief to the curb and have it get picked up with the trash. Unfortunately Grief doesn't give in that easily. The only way to become companions with Grief is to go through it all until Grief is no longer an enemy but more of a friend. A friend who is always there but not sitting right on top of me. Grief is not my friend yet. Grief and I are still working alot of things out. And if you think that I (or anyone) can work through all the crap I've just talked about in 9 short months, you have no idea. And I'm not going to hide it away. Because if I start giving Grief suck in the dark and alone, then Grief is going to become a ravenous monster that will eat me up.

And, when, inevitably, one day there is another grieving mama, she won't be given liscense to grieve her child the way she needs to because at some point people will start labelling her. They will start whispering that she should be doing better...they will start nudging each other because well, they know another mama who lost her baby. And, well, Em started to be okay after awhile and this new mama....she's still crying...what's wrong with her? She should be getting over it by now...

There are people whom I love dearly and who love me too but who pretty much only see me on Sunday mornings. These people see me cry through Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. But what they don't realize is that there are six other days of the week and those six other days are not nearly as bad as Sunday is. Sunday I am surrounded surrounded by families who have all their children with them. Sunday I am surrounded by people who love me but who are also a little scared of me. Sunday I feel more alone than any other day of the week. Sunday I feel observed. Sunday I feel judged.

But still, I want to go to church on Sundays. I want to be there and be with God because my relationship with God is bigger than singing songs that choke me. God can handle my pain. God can handle my mourning. God can handle my tears. God can handle my anger. God has big shoulders and He can handle it even if people can't. So, I'm still going to go to church on Sunday. I'm still going to sit there and cry Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. I'm still going to go and feel misunderstood and alone on Sunday. I'm still going to go home on Sunday afternoon utterly spent and exhausted.

And if I'm a little prickly towards you. If I get my back up. If I'm aloof or withdrawn or not pleasant. Well, please, give me a little grace. Grief and I are still duking it out. And it's hard work. The hardest I've ever done in my life. But if I don't do the work I will get eaten up and that's not what I want. I want to come out on the other side of this. I want to be able to help others get through this kind of searing pain. But it's not going to happen if I give Grief succour in the dark. It will only happen if Grief and I become companions. And that is still going to be awhile. A long while. And Grief will always be in the room with me. And Grief is sad.

15 comments:

  1. Tears ... the bleeding of an emotional wound.
    Two quotes for you...
    "Every one can master a grief but he that has it" -William Shakespeare
    and another
    "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." Matthew 5:4

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  2. Wow. Amen to that. You are so right... You have to face grief and express it. Hiding emotions and supressing grief only makes things worse. I went through a similar "being judged" phase (and I may still be in it at times), but you have to ignore those that don't get it and do what you know is right and natural for you. And for those that will come after us.

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    1. Thanks Molly,
      Those that may and will come along after us will grieve differently than I have. This I have learned that no one grieves in the same way and therefore we need to be careful when someone is grieving. It may not be 'right' to us but it is right to them.
      It's like what we choose to do with the remains of our child. Some may 'want' to bury their child. Some may 'want' to scatter the ashes. Some may 'want' to cremate and keep the ashes in an urn on their mantle. Some may 'want' to hide the little urn away in a drawer and keep it close for only their eyes to see. Is there a wrong way? Is one of those moms or dads wrong? I don't think so. Same with Grief. They will have to wrestle with Grief in their own way and come to terms with Grief in their own way. This is a lonely road.

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  3. I love that you wrote this and I love that it is the truth and I love that you are so brave to really, really, really take it upon yourself to know grief. I'm also in awe of your courage to keep showing up to church - your courage and your discipline and your devotion.

    Sending love your way
    xoxoxo

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    1. You used the word courage here Suzanne. That's exactly what it feels like. I have to rally up my courage to go to church. But it will be worth it in the end. Sometimes I feel courageous to have made it to church. Funny how courage comes in all shapes and sizes. I always thought courage was going to war or something like that. Now I'm learning that for some courage is getting out of bed. For some courage is leaving the house. For some courage is going to church. Courage is facing your fears in a way you know is right, even if it's scary. Thanks Suzanne.

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  4. What a beautiful post! I love it! I think that you should post this on your church's website or in the bulletin so that everyone can see what you are going through and why. If you have never experienced it, you won't understand it. This could help people to start to understand what we, as mom's (and dads) who have lost a beloved child, feels like and what we are going through.

    With Hope,
    Cheryl

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  5. Thanks Cheryl but I don't think I'll be posting it in out church bulletin. My pastor already reads my blog as do a few other people in my church. I do not want people to feel like I am attacking them, which I think could happen if it were to go in the bulletin. This blog is for me and if people choose to read it they can make of it what they will but if I were to put it in the bulletin it would feel like it was aimed at a target. And it's really not.

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    1. I do understand what you are saying...I just think that you said it so beautifully that I thought that it might help them/you, but I do agree with what you said. It is nice that your church is aware of your blog.

      I have kept my blog quiet around my friends/family.

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    2. Cheryl, There are times when it is nice that my IRL folks know about my blog and there are other times when I don't write stuff or tone it down or just plain wish I had never shared this blog with them. But, generally, I'm glad that they are reading along.

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  6. I needed to read this. Thank you for saying it.

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  7. I needed to read this. Thank you for saying it.

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    1. Remembering Anja with you. I'm glad this was what you needed to read but sorry that you need to read it. Thank you for telling me because it's encouraging to know that my posts help other people.
      Love, Em

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  8. So many powerful truths here. Grief is indeed lonely, exhausting, hard, hard work.

    I'm sorry you have people around you who are judging you in your grief. It just makes me so sad that any of us have to deal with that in addition to what we've already endured. I think anyone who believes we should stop crying for our dead children is basically clueless or lacking in compassion.

    Tears are a testament to your sacred love for your child, and what better place to express that than in your place of worship, a place that holds such meaning and importance for you?

    Sending love to you and Eva, and crying sacred tears with you. xo

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    1. Missing Molly, I'm not sure people really are judging me but it does feel that way. One thing I've learned though, is that feelings are fickle. Love to you Missing Molly.

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  9. You're right. This is how it goes, the constant companion we need to befriend, almost. To work with and walk with.

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