Grief

Five years ago on this day I gathered with friends and family to celebrate the life of my dear friend Emmie.  She went to Heaven just days before on Oct 21, 2008.  I remember that day so clearly – getting the call, rushing to the ER, hearing the news literally as I walked in the door, and then holding her still warm hand and feeling peace because I knew she was with Jesus. 

Five years later after saying goodbye to my friend, I had to say goodbye to my children for what felt like the millionth time – another trip of sweet hugs and laughs but without the joy of them accompanying us home. With every trip, my heart gets fuller yet more broken.  Goodbyes are just hard.  And although I said goodbye to them differently than I said goodbye to Emmie, I know the same Jesus holds them all while I can’t be with them.

Grief has a way of sometimes staying locked up in the body.  Every year on Oct 21, I feel the heaviness.  My sons will tell you they feel sick and tired on Jan 12 - the anniversary of the Haiti earthquake.  It’s amazing what our bodies go through and how they hold the burden of what they have suffered.  I have been fighting health problems for several months now.  I can hardly catch my breath sometimes when I walk up my stairs at home.   This baffles me, because I’ve always been so healthy and in shape.   I realized this week after saying goodbye to my boys and seeing them off to school, I had to climb the same flight of stairs from their orphanage back up to the car to go to the airport - the same routine with every goodbye.  And every time I climb those stairs I am bawling my eyes out and can hardly take the next step.  It was important for me to make this connection.  Stairs now remind my body of this long journey and the heaviness of goodbye. My body is tired – of goodbyes, of climbing those same stairs over and over, of keeping my head held high with hope.  And knowing this piece helps me honor my body and show it compassion.  For it has not failed me.  It is just loaded with sorrow.  And as I honor my grief, I also invite hope.  I hope for strength for the next step.  There will always be another “hello.” One day I’ll see Emmie again in Heaven.  One day I’ll bring my sons home.  One sweet day.  So I climb another step and grow stronger.  I take a deep breath and remind myself that sorrow does not last forever.  

Decisions

A common theme with my clients is the struggle to make decisions. I find myself in this conundrum lately as well.  Whether it’s related to relationships, jobs, health, where to go to church, or just what to eat for dinner, decisions can feel debilitating when there seems no clear direction.  For me I wonder, “what if it’s the wrong decision?”  So, what if it is? If it’s wrong, I can do or try something different.  But then the doing and trying something different can become exhausting and debilitating as well.  At least that’s been my experience in my most recent battle of making decisions.

On a day when I was just tired of trying to “figure it out,” I braided my hair, threw on my Willie Nelson t-shirt, turned on Avett Brothers tunes, and got out a canvas and paints.  I have never pained before – except in one of those paint along classes where you bring your friends and some wine and laugh at yourself trying to follow the teacher.  But I had no teacher, no wine, no friend there with me – just me.  I wanted to abandon decision-making and just be present with myself with no expectation of doing this "correctly."  So I started painting arrows in every direction – up, down, right, left – each a different shade of this fun metallic paint I had picked out.   They represent the choices by which I currently feel perplexed.  I did not like these arrows just hanging out there, because that’s how I feel right now – so many possible directions with no clear path to take.  So I painted Light in the center and all around them – to remind me that there will be Light at the source and around all these paths.  I do not have to be alone in my confusion – whatever is chosen I have Help along my journey.  I have a Guide so much bigger than me.  It is hard for me to choose a direction, because in my human nature I want to know it will be the “right” way.   But what I’m learning is that answers come when I try and experience different options and allow guidance from the Light of the Holy Spirit.  It is with me in every choice and will never leave me alone.  As I make decisions, it gives me a nudge of “yes, I have peace about that,” or the opposite, “something doesn’t seem right about this.”  And I take a deep breath and realize I am not failing if I have to turn around and try a new path – just learning something new.  Maybe decisions aren’t always about being right, but instead invite us to live more fully in curiosity and soak in the Light around us for help.