Looking reality right in its face, is what I'm doing. I don't care if I have to squint. I was a kid once and stared at the sun when I was told not to while standing on the blacktop of my elementary school. I saw things. And I continued to see things under my eyelids when I turned away and blinked. I see you, reality. Glowing bright orange under my lids. It couldn't have worked. Glowing orange. It wasn't sustainable. More glowing. Squint and see it. Squint and take it in. You were being called to let go. Bright and burning. Turn away to rest and entertain a different outcome, if needed. But always, always turn back to the sun and take it in. Let it burn. Let it sear. Let it all go now.
April 11, 2014
Had my first session with a grief counselor from a hospice organization in the U.S. Such a great relief to hear that everything I'm doing/thinking is normal, that this particular grief is layered and complicated, that in her opinion I'm showing a lot of strength and doing exactly what I need to do, and that I've got some pretty intense multi-sensory experiences from that week that will take some time to work through. Smells, sights, sounds, touch- You know how just a song or smell can bring you right back to a certain place? I'll need to be doing some writing about things I saw, smelled, touched, heard, saw in that week. Perhaps not for public reading.
She also pointed out that my sitting in my car for extended periods of time is not necessarily a bad thing. I feel safe in there and my world is small. I remember being comforted as a kid by sitting on the floor of my dad's closet and I think I've created my own little closet in my car. My womb-room! So, no need to say bad things to myself when I'm sitting in there 40 minutes after I've pulled into my parking spot.
I've also agreed to do something involving self-care for 5 minutes a day, at least. It could be meditation, a walk, running, bike ride, yoga, hanging out in a blanket, drinking tea, listening to music...Fine, I said. I'll do it.
I'm also to write some things down as a reminder to myself when I'm going down to the floor, so to speak. I'll carry it with me and read it when I need. I've never been the type to have notes like this around, but don't knock it until you're completely lost in the world and might need it, right? Fine, I said. I'll do it. Here's what I came up with:
1. I was in Gareth’s life for a reason.
2. Gareth was in my life for a reason.
3. I acted out of love at all times with him.
4. I am not responsible for his actions/reactions.
5. The universe has a plan for me.
6. I am doing small things every day to take care of myself.
7. This pain will not last.
8. I will experience joy again.
9. I have everything I need to get through this.
10. God is in this equation.
We'll see what that does as far as rewiring my little brain. This is not to say I can't or won't let myself experience the grief. But when I'm sobbing I'm going to try giving these thoughts a go instead of the sometimes not so kind or more hopeless ones.
I can meet with the magical skype grief lady as often as I want. I can't believe I have such a resource. There's some gratitude right there. Holy shit. Maybe I will get through this.
Love and thoughts to all experiencing the waves of grief right now. Death of a father, hospitalization of a mom, death of a pet, death of a good friend, suicide of a friend's daughter, death of a niece, loss of a relationship- I've read quite a bit lately through people's recent posts and in recent conversations. I'm taking the tiny light I have inside and blowing on it a bit to send sparks in the direction of anyone who needs them. Love sparks. Here. *blows* Here they go...flying.
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