Grief
A man possesses only what he gives away, says Elie Wiesel. I say that a woman possesses only what cannot be taken from her.
I went to bed just before Three am. I pulled my clothes off and as I did so, for the first time in a long time I felt old. I felt like I had been beaten. I was so chilled I thought about running a bath, but I didn't have the energy. Getting into bed was an effort as well, but I forced myself to. I pulled the covers over my head, mimicking the pall, the funk that has grown over me, and eventually feel asleep.
For a few hours.
I dreamed of death and dying and loss. I dreamed of the two grandparents who died of cancer, of great suffering, one when I was 9, the other when I was 14. I dreamed of Pilar, and the leukemia and the nasal hemorraging that killed her before we were 16. I dreamed of Max, who had so much joy in life and taught me how to live, turning blue in his bed when the ALS finally reached his lungs. He was 60, I was 17. 7 years flew by and then Grandfather Reese, who was still conducting his experiments in his 80's, died a slow death after his stroke. In my dream I read journal article after journal article to him. A year later, Grandmother Graham died in horriffic pain from cancer, and in my dream I held her as she vomited blood into a garbage bin because the basin they had given me was already filled. Chris' wake, Ryan's funeral and the devestation on their mother's faces. Grandmother Walter's funeral, Hawaii for mom's death, Gerald's funeral. And Carol. Carol. A sea of grief, unexpressed. I was drowning in it.
I awakened at 6am feeling terribly sad. Tears welled and I decided to get out of bed. There is nothing worse than waking up depressed in the morning. It is something I have rarely experienced, and I don't know how people live through it on a daily basis. I read email, more tears. I brewed coffee, but could not swallow it. I tried to go for a walk, but the birds are too happy. It seems a personal affront, all their twittering and singing. I took a moment to water in the back this morning. The temperature has been in the 75F range and we haven't had rain in--days. The primroses are blooming, the daphne, too. The flowering cherry is casting confetti petals everywhere--I saw, but it brought me no joy to notice these things. My solar plexus aches. It feels like it has been aching forever and will continue to do so for eternity. But I know it won't. I'll get over it. From somewhere, my innate optimism will rise, and this cloud will pass.
My therapist says that grieving is a process that cannot be by-passed. If I will not allow myself to grieve over my losses, then I will not heal from them. That I will always feel that pressure, that it will always be fresh. "You are still in the denial phase of a dozen deaths." I told her I don't handle loss well. She said "You don't handle it, you feel it. Loss is not something you can control, and feelings of loss should not be controlled."
And then, of course, there are other losses to grieve--innocence, friendships, lovers, trust.
I feel for the survivors of the tsunami. I can only imagine their grief. I force myself to read about the efforts to rebuild. I force myself to feel the human elements. It reminds me that for all that the whole world seems a huge grindstone, suffering is both an individual and a collective thing.
I went to bed just before Three am. I pulled my clothes off and as I did so, for the first time in a long time I felt old. I felt like I had been beaten. I was so chilled I thought about running a bath, but I didn't have the energy. Getting into bed was an effort as well, but I forced myself to. I pulled the covers over my head, mimicking the pall, the funk that has grown over me, and eventually feel asleep.
For a few hours.
I dreamed of death and dying and loss. I dreamed of the two grandparents who died of cancer, of great suffering, one when I was 9, the other when I was 14. I dreamed of Pilar, and the leukemia and the nasal hemorraging that killed her before we were 16. I dreamed of Max, who had so much joy in life and taught me how to live, turning blue in his bed when the ALS finally reached his lungs. He was 60, I was 17. 7 years flew by and then Grandfather Reese, who was still conducting his experiments in his 80's, died a slow death after his stroke. In my dream I read journal article after journal article to him. A year later, Grandmother Graham died in horriffic pain from cancer, and in my dream I held her as she vomited blood into a garbage bin because the basin they had given me was already filled. Chris' wake, Ryan's funeral and the devestation on their mother's faces. Grandmother Walter's funeral, Hawaii for mom's death, Gerald's funeral. And Carol. Carol. A sea of grief, unexpressed. I was drowning in it.
I awakened at 6am feeling terribly sad. Tears welled and I decided to get out of bed. There is nothing worse than waking up depressed in the morning. It is something I have rarely experienced, and I don't know how people live through it on a daily basis. I read email, more tears. I brewed coffee, but could not swallow it. I tried to go for a walk, but the birds are too happy. It seems a personal affront, all their twittering and singing. I took a moment to water in the back this morning. The temperature has been in the 75F range and we haven't had rain in--days. The primroses are blooming, the daphne, too. The flowering cherry is casting confetti petals everywhere--I saw, but it brought me no joy to notice these things. My solar plexus aches. It feels like it has been aching forever and will continue to do so for eternity. But I know it won't. I'll get over it. From somewhere, my innate optimism will rise, and this cloud will pass.
My therapist says that grieving is a process that cannot be by-passed. If I will not allow myself to grieve over my losses, then I will not heal from them. That I will always feel that pressure, that it will always be fresh. "You are still in the denial phase of a dozen deaths." I told her I don't handle loss well. She said "You don't handle it, you feel it. Loss is not something you can control, and feelings of loss should not be controlled."
And then, of course, there are other losses to grieve--innocence, friendships, lovers, trust.
I feel for the survivors of the tsunami. I can only imagine their grief. I force myself to read about the efforts to rebuild. I force myself to feel the human elements. It reminds me that for all that the whole world seems a huge grindstone, suffering is both an individual and a collective thing.
posted by KR | 3/12/2005 08:39:00 AM
1 Comments:
march 11 was the 30th month anniversary of John death.I think we need to hold each other and wail till the heavens cant ignore us.then sit in the quiet of the aftermath and watch the deep wound heal.
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