In whatever stage of grief we find ourselves, loss will never fail to color our lives. No matter how recent, or distant, the loss is, we will continue to live within the grief bubble of our ruptured love room. Like a lens that tints every aspect of our lives, grief is a constant window from which we view the world.
The older I get, and the further away the loss of my aunt (8 years ago!) – the more I experience the “polarities” of loss.
Knowing how fragile and tender life really is, my whole being cherishes everything I see, every person (or pooch!) I know, every new and gorgeous dahlia, all the courageous lives I witness or hear about. Sometimes, grief is a golden, gentle light.
And sometimes grief is a cloud, a fog through which I see everything. I wonder how anyone makes it through all the challenges of a life. I take in, and feel, the wrenching sorrows of the vulnerable people and beings and landforms of the world.
I have become a well of sorrows – at the same time that I have become a well of love – twin realities, neither of which I am ever really free. And maybe it’s okay. I am, after all, made up of this world that labors and loves, made up of the planet that shudders and forges on, made up of all the love that was poured into me and lifted me up, and of the small wounds and slights that pressed me down.
I live now with the ambiguities of being alive, and with the inexorable fact of the coming end-times of my own life.
Along the way, I’ve “absorbed” some of the unique qualities of my aunt; she’s inside of me more than ever now. Sometimes I find myself in the middle of a statement, or action, and I wonder if what I’m saying or doing is really wholly me, or is, in part, bits of my aunt that I took in and absorbed.
I guess love is always like that – something we take in, digest, absorb, and share as we make our ways through this struggling and stupendous world.
I’m grateful to my aunt for her example of how to head into my own later years – with courage and curiosity, with dignity and feistiness, with acceptance and resolve.
But – I’m not dead yet!
This morning, all the sunflowers in the ragged garden were bright, leaned over the grass, kept opening petals even though the squirrels have figured out how to climb their thick stalks and nibble out seed. Nothing could have been more beautiful.
So even though my aunt is gone, and even though loss continues to color all the days of my life, the lessons on how to carry on in this great work of loving life continue on.
Loved this one! Especially your idea of grief as a window through which we see the world,and,how your aunt is inside of you even more than ever. I often feel that way about Doug, so much, that I wonder who I really am!
My identity has changed substantially!
Ciao, Bella!
Veriamo a Firenze 😎
Yes, I’ve found grief to be like a “forging fire” that turns us into something more, and maybe in the best ways, less – than we were before the loss. We are transformed into something we might not have been able to imagine – and yes, Ciao, Bella!
Beautiful, poignant, and profound. I’ve experienced grief in many ways you describe. Sometimes I just want to forget. Or not have it matter. Contemplating my own end does put this world in a different light. So many comings and goings, does it ever end? Let there be an eternal resting place for our hearts.
Yes – grief, and contemplating our own leaving time, certainly does press us closely into the great Mystery – whether we think we like the idea or not! I love the idea of an eternal resting place for our hearts!