Giving in to the Grip of Grief

“If you’re true to yourself, your life will bring abundance.” ~ Suzy Amis Cameron (Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversations 10/15/19)

Abundance, faith, & family – these are the first three words that I saw this morning in a 2020 Energy Predictions word search puzzle. These words are supposed to describe my 2020. I know these social media games are for entertainment; however, when a theme is repeated in a short period of time, I tend to pay attention. The universe may be sending me a message.

One characteristic of my personality is control. I think I can rationalize Blake’s passing. I can reassure myself that he’s free from the chains of addiction and the self-loathing that it brought to him. I can remind myself of the desperation that I heard in his voice in the months before his final overdose. I can remember that Blake was proud of me and that he would want me to continue living, despite his physical absence. I can recognize that he might even be frustrated by my tears. But that doesn’t stop them, nor does it stop the days where grief’s tantrum holds me in a trance.

Control and grief are not friends. In fact, even though control does everything it can to distract grief, grief is oblivious to control’s existence. This is what is particularly infuriating to me. On a couple of occasions, I’ve felt grief begin to well up inside me and taken a day off from work to rest, believing that doing so will prevent the overwhelming feelings that grief brings. This might work sometimes, but just when I think I have the upper hand, grief reshuffles without permission.

Because of control, and perhaps self-discipline and determination, cousins of control, I’ve been able to accomplish a number of positive things throughout my adult years. I brought Blake into this world and attended college as a single mother. Together, with my partner, I’ve bought homes and moved to another state. I’ve made career moves that have fulfilled me and benefitted my family. I’ve endeavored to improve myself in every way, finishing my M.Ed. in 2016 and vowing to reclaim my physical health in 2017. There have been many sink holes along the way, but I’ve managed to emerge from the grime, brush off what I didn’t need, and claim victory over the obstacles – because of control. Feeling a lack of control over myself is foreign to me.

As Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” This quote resonates with my soul. Pain and becoming can work together for growth, although sometimes lately, this pain seems too big. The amount of light that could enter through the gaping crevice that is exposing my soul is unimaginable. And honestly, I don’t really care to imagine it. That I could become a better version of myself, as a result of my son’s death, is not something I want to consider.

But isn’t our purpose here to become our best selves? And don’t we, more often than not, do this through experience and overcoming adversity?

I didn’t ask for Blake to be afflicted with debilitating addiction. I didn’t ask for this disease to take his life. I do have to figure out how to keep living without him here. I have to learn how to face and give in to grief. I have to let grief teach me, and the only way I can do this is by giving up my perceived control, because really, control is only imaginary.

A question that has been sitting with me though is: ‘how can I just go on with life as it was before Blake passed?’ It feels like there should be some big shift, because there has been. Not that Blake’s passing should come to define my existence, but it is and will forever be a big part of who I am. It can make me, or it can break me. Maybe that’s where control comes in, in the deciding. I think this control is in allowing grief to exist instead of trying to shake it off. Perhaps it’s even more than allowing, but actually leaning into it, experiencing the uncomfortable-ness of it, listening to it, and letting it guide me.

Lately, I have an urge to run away. I know running won’t change anything that has happened, but it would bring a shift. I need to reconstruct, like a city or town does after a major weather catastrophe. I need my family of people to help me, with time, shoulders, and Kleenex, in place of the hammers and nails used to rebuild places that have suffered devastation. And faith…funny that word should emerge too. Thank you Blake for leaving me with that word in our last conversation. I need to have faith that the abundance of life will come through being true to myself, and at this time, through my grief.

That silly word search this morning was really not so silly. I saw the words I needed to see. Those words, coupled with the podcast that I chose to listen to on my way to work, provided me with encouragement and a desire to be introspective and contemplate where I am now and how I want to get to wherever I’m going and who I’m becoming.

What three words do you see?