I'm not going to die,
I'm going home
Like a shooting star.
~ Sojourner Truth
Well it seemed quietly, because inside me I felt like a volcano about to explode. I felt like I was losing control.
After the passing of my beloved Mother some other things happened which for pragmatic reasons made me be as strong as I could.
It feels hard to express our own grief when other family members are having difficulties too. But it was a load of feelings without I even realize it.
Using our limited energy in suppressing our emotions is, for the most part, vain. We who grieve must accept the fact that we will not be as effective during the grief process as we were before. Some things will go undone; some responsibilities will not be met.
Grief is a lonely process. It is a road that is traveled single file. Time alone cannot heal the wound. There is no such thing as simply tying a knot and holding on. Grief is an active process.
There is no antidote for grief. There is no short-cut to recovery. Each of us grieve differently, and the time we need will differ, as well. We must give ourselves permission to grieve, and take the time it requires. We must not allow those around us to rush us through the process. But we heal in community.
When a loved one dies, we also lose the part of our lifestyle that included the deceased.
So while I’m grieving for my Mother, I’m also grieving for the parts of my life that will never be the same. We wrestle with the fact that there can never again be the “normal” as we knew it. We must establish a new “normal.”
We do not “recover” in the usual sense because there cannot be a “going back to life as it was.” We must make changes or the changes make us. We must build new memories while we wrestle with the old ones.
We discover many things about ourselves as we walk this path. Certainly we learn about strengths we did not know we had, but we also learn about some weaknesses.
But I was seated on the sofa… My grief started to be as fresh as the day I lost my Mother, and it again seemed to overwhelm me. I broke out and started to cry.
And I cried and cried and yelled and cried…
The sorrow of the loss needed a voice, better than grieving in silence, far better than pretending the loss doesn't hurt.
Because it does. It always does.
It is the voice of that part of me that died with my Mother, and the voice of that part of her that yet lives through me.
It is the voice that reassured her, while she walked through the lonesome valley, that she was not truly alone.
And it is the voice that reminds me, neither am I.