Getting Through The Slow Grind of Grief
The pain is real. The pain is more intense than any physical pain I have ever suffered.
It is the clawing at my soul, the ripping open of my heart. At its worst, it brings a sense of
utter hopelessness which pervades my every morning, afternoon, evening. In dreams I sometimes find relief, but not when her presence is felt, her essence enveloping the structure
of the dream, the waking to longing, then the cold realization that she will not return, she will be gone forever.
I pray each day: God help me to realize that loving you is the most important thing in my
life. I believe that this prayer has been answered. I truly comprehend that the real purpose
of my life is to love God/The Divine/The Almighty/She. I accept this belief, my faith, my love of The Divine as a fundamental, very real thing in my life. A given. A gift. A jewel. A sweetness in my heart that helps wash away the pain of grief. The sweetness envelops me with a soothing caress. It takes away the bitterness of loss.
I wrote most of this piece at the height of my feeling distraught/hopeless/negative. After reflecting more about what I want to tell you, my gentle reader, I realized that I need to let you know that I got through my worst morning in weeks, because my nephew David called me. He knew immediately that something was wrong. He knew, and told me several times that he could not stand to lose me. I am his last best link to his mother, my sister; her son who loves me as fiercely as I love him. As fiercely as I loved his mother. He pulled me through. I am indebted to him, and grateful that I can talk to him from my heart.
Getting Through The Slow Grind of Grief.
So I must say to you, dear reader, that you are to create a group of several people in your life with whom you can share your heart. People you can trust to hear you; with whom you can be vulnerable. People who love you and care enough to listen. Find this group of people because they can save your very life.
Learn to fall in love. With yourself; your home; your work; your talents; your thoughts and voice; and learn to fall in love with the things which will keep you vital as you age. Fall in love with routine, because the body, as all life, thrives on routine/rhythm/rhyme. Honor the things which keep you whole.
Vow to not stay stuck. Vow to go on. Difficult as this is. The routine in your day will help. My daily walks helped save me. One step in front of the other as my tears streamed down my face, as people passed and I kept my head bowed. For months on end I walked without seeing. I didn’t want to see. In needed to remain inside of myself. The pain was too near the surface and would ooze out, unbidden. No contact with others created safety to remain inside. Inside myself. There was no taste to the world. No joy.
Routine kept my body whole, kept me sane, kept me alive, kept me healthy; allowed me to withstand the storm in my soul, the emotional void, the pain of my heart. Routine carried me on her shoulders and allowed me to come to Acceptance. In the deepest part of my soul, I knew I had to continue to live. The Acceptance was my vow to do so.
Fall in love with vegetables/whole grains/fresh and dried fruit/nuts/seeds/legumes/hot spices – ginger, cayenne, garlic, onion, parsley, cilantro/fermented food. Fall in love with the food which will keep you alive and vital. Begin to eschew the food which will cause inflammation, disease, pain for you. Fall in love with daily stretching/daily walks/daily movement of muscle, especially large muscles. Nothing has to happen all at once. Let it happen gradually, but for it to happen, the falling in love with these elements must happen. Fall in love with yourself, and with the basic things which will allow you to function at your best, allow you to be your best to serve. I am convinced that I wish to serve with my writing. You will find the way that you can best serve. You will find your way through this pit of grief. You will come out the other side wiser. Stronger. Better. You will live again, fully.
I have taken to writing as my way to stave off the very worst of the pain of grief. I want to write to enable my thoughts to live on. To enable my words and voice to find their way to others’ hearts. I hope to let others know that they are not alone. That there are others in the
world who feel their hopelessness and despair. Others who trudge through the muck of this
deep grief, who keep trudging in hopes that by not giving up, their words can be a reason to
live. Maybe my words will be of some use, some help to someone. This is my hope, and this
is why I write; to let others know they are not alone.
Grief slowly grinds down the heart, wears down the soul, relentless, unforgiving, brutal.
Does it get better? Yes, but achingly, agonizingly, slowly. As the months and years pass, the grief is not as intense.
Trust that grief’s grip of pain will loosen. Trust that your world will get better. I’ve come through the worst of the agony, and know now that the feelings will shift. They will shift, I promise.