I can handle this
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| Childhood home torn down October 2016 |
My childhood home was demolished last October. That image has become a metaphor for me in this process of grief and loss. It was a great home, but its season has passed. Now, something new and more useful for this season is being built. The process is hard, ugly, painful, lonely and messy; but, extremely necessary.
I've always been independent. I was raised to be. So, I'm not the best at taking advice, or easily believing what others say is true. Six years ago, I took a course on Grief, Trauma and Loss. I learned a lot of great information, but deep down thought, it can't be that big of deal. The teacher kept talking about the hard work of grief. It's not something you get over, it's something you go through. It's work, it's complicated. I dismissed those words and put them in the category of: yeah, for the poor, weak, and emotional ones! Poor things.
Most chapters in life can't really be understood, until you've lived them. Like studying the map of New York and knowing all the subway lines, but not really understanding the experience until you've gotten lost on one. That doesn't mean you shouldn't enter the conversation with those who have been, or are in, the midst of confusion.
As I was taking the course, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Nine months later, she passed. Three months before my mom passed, a very close friend of mine died as well. Here's a summary of my 2012, as far as losses go:
May: good friend died
August: mom died
September: favorite, and best dog ever died
October: major immediate family crisis
November: sold our home of 23 years and moved to a new neighborhood
December: husband's job changed (I, too, made a huge job move the previous year)
My default is to keep going, others have it much worse, buck up. So, I did.
My strong, independent dad was alone, after 57 years, and left to take care of himself. I had to be strong for him. I had to keep helping others, I had to serve in the church. I had to...
My dad passed last July 31, 2016. That changed everything.
Even after all the personal work I'd done on leading and living from a place of rest, I put on my soldier boots and kept marching. As you've probably guessed, I hit a ditch, a dark one, and couldn't jump out; I had to climb. One step at a time. Baby steps, one step forward, five back etc. I'm still climbing, but I'm beginning to see and feel the light again. Thank God.
Here's my list of must haves (in my opinion, and I am the one writing this) when you walk in grief:
Friends who initiate with you:
- A "me too" friend
- A "let's take a walk" friend (because you don't feel like self care!)
- A "let's get a foot massage/pedicure" friend.
- An, "it's okay, you can quit or walk away friend/community"
- A "you can be crabby, and I'll still love you" friend
Insider Tip: Don't wait for your friend to 'call if she needs anything!' Call them, show up.
If you don't have these kinds of friends, become one and they will show up when it's your turn.
One of the hardest parts for me was to admit, "I can't," or "I'm not able." The energy is just NOT THERE! I couldn't muster it, guilt it into being, or create it through normal practices. It just wasn't there. Finally, I fully admitted it, and basically walked away from all responsibility, giving myself permission to take a year of Jubilee (google it). A year where you let the soil rest, and the deeper work take root. A year free of indebtedness. A year of healing and restoring.
Insider Tip: Applaud these brave steps. They aren't easy to take.
Good Books: Audible has become a close friend!
Here's a few of my favs during this process:
- Falling Upward (Richard Rohr)
- The Road Back to You (Ian Cron; Suzanne Stabile)
- Lilac Girls (Martha Hall Kelly)
- A Grief Observed (C.S. Lewis)
- Out of Sorts (Sarah Bessey)
- Present Over Perfect (Shauna Niequist)
- Small Great Things (Jodi Picoult)
- And, of course, the Scriptures. Especially the Psalms. Love 145.
For everything there is a season,
a time for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal.
A time to tear down, and a time to build up.
A time to cry and a time to laugh.
A time to grieve and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4
I wouldn't say I'm dancing yet, but the music is getting louder.
