Friday, March 13, 2015

In the Ring with Grief

I'm filling in for Kelley Lynn today, she will be back next week! This post was written about four years after Phil died. It's amazing how the written words mean the same thing literally, but six years later their figurative meaning has shifted yet again. 


source


Over the past four years grief and I have reluctantly become friends. Grief is not the kind of friend I can call in the middle of the night when I am sad, but rather the kind of friend who sits quietly at the end of my bed while I cry myself to sleep. Grief may be away for weeks or even months at a time, but the knock of this friend is now as familiar to me as my own voice. There is no need to explain my sorrow to grief; she understands my process better than I do. Grief knows I will get up again no matter how hard I have been hit by her power, and patiently stands as a witness to my ability to regain my balance time and time again. When grief calls, I stop what I am doing because I have learned that she must be answered. When I quit trying to escape her, I found an unexpected comfort by her side. She calls me and repels me; guides me and confuses me; moves me forward and throws me back.


Some days I hate grief, and other days I miss her. I have discovered a safe place in her arms, though her twisting, turning path won't allow me to be still for long. Her presence has added a soft cadence to my day-to-day life that I have come to rely on as confirmation that I am, indeed, alive. The irony of this does not escape me. I have realized that in my mind grief has replaced Phil, and that my fear of letting him go has created a relationship with grief I could never have anticipated.

I am beginning to believe that this is why grief comes in waves. If grief was linear and we could walk from one stage into the next, there would likely be large numbers of grieving people with severe stage fright. I would be terrified if someone were able to provide me with a grief graduation date. Instead, grief throws us from one phase to the next, with no predictable pattern or discernible course. Like a boxer who learns to fight on their feet, our tortured, grieving selves wheel from one moment to the next watching for the inevitable gut punch. And slowly, painfully we become stronger, faster, and more confident each time we are forced into the ring. That doesn't mean we won't hit the mat, or that we won't be tempted to stay down for the count...but somehow our spirits find the will to fight one more time.

Grief holds the towel as we come out of the ring. Grief bandages our wounds and then sends us to face the opponent called death, again and again. Grief stands behind the stool in our corner and insists we go another round. There is a saying that speaks to the concept that some friends come into our lives for a purpose, but do not stay long. I am beginning to think of grief as a friend who will come and go from my life. She will show me how to survive in the ring of sorrow, and then leave me with these hard earned knocks hoping they teach me something about living courageously. Grief will also point out that she is not Phil and that he is not her. He exists in a separate, and timeless, place that she does not inhabit. Grief is wise. And eventually I must let her go, knowing that when she resurfaces, sometime down the road, I will greet her as a friend.

10 comments:

  1. Such I good post. Not to long ago I heard Mary Chapin Carpenter's "Learning the World" and have found how both of you have come to see grief enlightening. It has taken awhile and remains an ongoing thing.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yqHoB16gzU


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    1. Linda...what a beautiful song! I've never heard it, but obviously Mary and I are on the same page! Thank you so much for sharing!

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  2. This post resonates very deeply with me. I like the thought of grief as a friend, sitting there quietly at the end of my bed as tears flow or handing me a towel when my sorrow has left me bloody and bruised. Thank you for your words, Michele ... and thank you, Linda, for sharing Mary Chapin Carpenter's song, too.

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    1. I really like that image, too, Dianne. And I find the knowledge that grief will never really be "new" to me again somehow comforting. Thanks for reading~

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  3. This will not surprise you at all but I have a friend named Grief too. I have adjusted to her presence as a friend. Here's a story of one particular day with her. http://www.thewayfinderpost.com/but-grief-said-not-today/

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    1. Love your post, Tamara..and grief said, not today. Beautiful.

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  4. I always looked forward to Kelly Lynn's post so if I'm being honest I was a little disappointed that someone was filling in for her......until I read your words. The timing was so unbelievably perfect. My husband died 7 months ago and although it's early days yet, I was going through a period of being okay and I wondered if I was starting to heal. Then wham I was blindsided the day before yesterday and I felt like I was back at day one. I was talking to my daughter later in the day (she phones me every day to see how I'm doing. She's my little mother hen - bless her heart) and we talked about these meltdowns and how they often come just out of the blue for no reason. Your post made such sense to me and isn't the timing amazing? I especially liked the line "I am beginning to think of grief as a friend who will come and go from my life. She will show me how to survive in the ring of sorrow, and then leave me with these hard earned knocks hoping they teach me something about living courageously". Thank you Michele
    Penny

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    1. I look forward to Kelley's posts as well, Penny, but I am glad that my words were able to be exactly what you need on this day. You are right, seven months from your loss is early days, and yet you are growing your grief recovery muscles every single day. I am so glad you've found support and encouragement here at Widow's Voice. I love synchronicity, and am so glad to have been able to provide some needed words for you. Thanks for reading, and sharing.

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  5. Oh man, I really loved this one. Sharing. I will be remembering this metaphor... its such a compassionate and loving way to view my grief. Thanks Michelle!

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  6. When I first wrote this it was a total epiphany for me to realize the relationship between me and grief, and the separate one between me and death. I am so glad this meant something to you, and thanks for letting me know :) Love and thanks to you for all you do here on Widow's Voice...you are appreciated!

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