Day 206: What I Didn't Know

I'm part of a 30-day grief writing course. This post is in response to today's prompt, the 15th one (halfway through) asking us to examine our writing and the process so far. What have we found out about ourselves? Any surprises?

There were a few.

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15 writing prompts in.
15 to go.

I didn't know it would be this hard.
I mean, I write all of the time.
I've had to. It's what has kept me
tethered. Alive. Connected.

Things bubble up for me and
spill out on the page. And until
I put them there, I can't sleep.
I can't eat. I'm immobilized.

What does it matter if I set the
tone or if a dictated prompt does?
How much different could
writing with a community be?

I didn't know it would be this hard.
I didn't know I would dive in,
head-first, and days would go by
before I realized I was out of breath.

What great relief I felt to have found
my tribe. I belong here. They are
speaking a language I understand. The
language of grief. The words of trauma.

The specific dialect of sudden loss.
Yes! That's it exactly! That's how I 
feel! And you understand exactly 
the hows and whys of my sadness.

I didn't know I'd be so relieved to
read my own story in the stories of
others. The guilt. The shame. The
deep sense of longing. The fog.

I didn't know that this would come
with more duality. That relief would
be met with the heaviness of our
circumstances. Our collective loss.

Husbands gone. Taken by the water
in their lungs. Or the gun in their hands.
Or by the car of a stranger. Or by
the very cells in their body. I didn't know.

Motorcycle crash. Break-in and
murder. Drug overdose. Brain
tumor. Electrocution. Heart attack.
Suicide. Hospice. I didn't know.

Mothers gone. Siblings gone. Friends
and lovers gone. Children gone. (Why
must there be the children?) Raw.
Torn from arms of mothers. Fathers.

I didn't know. I didn't know that my
hurt and loss and missing of Gareth
would get swept up and stirred in
with the loss of others. I hurt for them.

I say the names of the ones they miss.
I look at the photos of their faces. I
look at them there with Gareth's and
I take them in. I take them all in.

Wide smiles.
Boyish grins.
Laughing eyes.
Sandy hair.
Brown hair.
Silver hair.
Golden hair.
Glasses.
No glasses.
Swaddled baby.
Graduation robe.
Sunglasses.
No sunglasses.
Sitting under a tree.
On the swings.
Bundled up for winter.
Arms wrapped around each other.
Bright red lipstick.
Light linen suit.
Soft eyes.
Hawaiian shirt.
Baseball cap.
Green scarf.

And there is Gareth among these
faces of the dead. Of the ones
we're mourning. The ones who
brought us to this writing course.

Here is his face captured in that
photo -smiling because I was behind
the camera. He was looking at me
and he was smiling. That smile.

I didn't know it would hurt so much
to see him smile. I didn't know that
I'd feel the weight of those smiles.
Those faces. These people we love.

I didn't know that sometimes I'd
admonish myself for under- qualifying.
I didn't love long enough. We weren't
married. My grief doesn't count.

I didn't know I had the capacity to be
so cruel to myself, while being so
understanding of others. I didn't know
that I could bring myself to tears.

At the same time, I underestimated what
strength could be drawn from collective
pain. It is a holy thing, this bearing witness.
This gentle kiss at the feet of grief.

I didn't know how much I needed a
place to mourn without judgement.
Without fear of being seen as selfish,
dramatic, hypocritical, or negative.

I didn't know how much I craved a
safe place. I didn't realize how unsafe
I felt beyond the confines of this little
private writing group. I feel unsafe.

Someone, upon hearing about this course,
said to me- "See? Doesn't it feel better to
know there are people out there who have
it much worse than you?" I didn't know.

I didn't know that statements like that
would make me feel like hurling glass.
Pulling hair. Screaming at the top of
my lungs and pulling all of the plugs.

I didn't know how validating it would
be to share things like that and have
an entire group of people echo back,
"That's complete and utter bullshit!"

I didn't realize I was in a club of fierce
protectors, and how much I am in need
of protecting. I didn't realize sometimes
I need protection from my own thoughts.

I didn't know this would happen. Any
of this. I didn't see myself here, writing
about Gareth, to a group of strangers.
That Gareth is gone. Gareth is gone.