On Grief

Grief.

The word itself has emotion attached. An energy of finality, mourning, wonder, and shock. The energy, the vibration we experience when our entire body suddenly feels so hollow, so empty, so ripped apart. The breath gets sucked out of you, emptied onto the floor. Your face feels numb.

Sometimes the final rest is a slow process, pulling on your loved one for months or years as bodily functions slowly sputter out. And sometimes the rest commences without warning: abrupt, and tragic. While we have more time to process the slow grief, they are equally as final.

My heart is with you, if you’re experiencing grief from the loss of a loved one. These are the trials we go through in life: and a harsh reminder that nothing in life is guaranteed. Give yourself the space you need from society to mourn, breathe and heal. Just, be. Then seek the comfort of shared memories, funny stories and peaceful practices from those who loved and were loved as well. Find a reason to laugh at a good memory - even just one. You will make it through this dark, murky water. You’ll float and glide on these tides of emotions to come up for air and lay along the shoreline.

Seedlings grow from forest fires and the ashes of loss. You will see the sun again, I promise.

Just today my own father-in-law pointed out that you will see your loved one again: each time you envision a memory. You’ll see their vibrant smile or hear their head-back laugh when you remember the time they gave a wisecrack remark. You’ll see them when you remember the tequila shot they took. You can see your loved one any time you want to, through the eyes of a memory and as a result, they will never be completely gone. I hope you find solace in this thought, as I did.

But I have a question for you:

What if we didn’t view loss, as loss?

What if we view this through a different lens: the realization that the loved one’s energy is eternal.

Every object has energy, charged molecular properties and a vibration at which it exists. And if we study genealogy, we know actual DNA is scripted and encoded with genes that our ancestors pass to us. They actually are within us. Generations pass down familial heritage: our loved ones are a part of us long after their physical bodies are gone.

Like the grand rafters of an old house still holding the roof together even after a fire, the bones of the house still intact when the rest in in ruins: there is a piece of this person that will always be with you, it remains, strong and still standing. Whether it’s their favorite bird that happens to fly by and land next to you, the car you used to joke about suddenly cutting you off, or maybe it’s when you order their favorite drink at dinner time instead of your usual go-to. Their energy is left behind, but never leaves. You can emulate the things you miss about your person. They are with you and you are with them even after death. It’s a connection beyond the physical world.

I see the energy of my husband’s grandmother in our own daughter, and I find joy despite our family’s loss because I know she is still with us. However you view death and afterlife, know that they are at peace, fulfilled and truly satisfied. The legacy of their loved ones will live on far longer than they could, and it’s up to us to keep this energy alive. It’s up to us to learn from these people and carry them with us for generations to come. Lay their physical body to rest, and keep them alive in spirit and soul.

We can actually gain something through this loss: the newfound energy that is left for us. The reflection that we can bring this energy into our own lives and live with the memories they left us. We can create new memories with them playing a part. We live for them, when they no longer can.

We attended Grandma Effie’s funeral via facetime today, and I was struck by how many people shared their memories of her. What I loved most was that she left separate, lasting memories with each person that were individual to them. The Effie I knew was different than the Effie you knew. We each relate to a different memory or experience and have it stored in our archives. We each store something of our own from this same wonderful person.

Because love is personal, it’s individual. The energy we connect with is only ours to keep.

I remember the endless pots of coffee she always had brewing. Always hot, always available (even in the evening) for anyone who needed to sit and chat about their day. We were always welcome at her table, with a piping hot brew in hand. I remember shrieking with laughter when she expressed expletives about old neighbors, or described her opinion on my sister-in-law’s hair, in shock of what her fiery spirit would actually verbalize well into her 80’s. I remember her proudly proclaiming to her other granddaughter and myself that we’d better provide her with great-grandbabies before she passed away as if we owed it to her, well before either of us were even married. I remember dancing with her at our wedding, holding up her frame as we swayed with her in the middle. And her holding Liberty, with a warm grandma grin as time slowed down and energy buzzed around just them two. I remember doing her dishes in the porcelain sink of her rental home that she raised all four of her own sons in. We were all welcome at Effie’s, anyone and at any time. As long as you were family, she’d set a space at the table for you. She took you as you were with no expectations, as our cousin pointed out.

When I think of these things, I am smiling. I am smiling because I am seeing her again this way just as I remember.

I hope you allow yourself to remember the joyous moments you shared with the person you’ve lost. Stay there, instead of wading in the pool of grief. Brew yourself a pot of coffee at 6PM just in case a friend stops by to reminisce. Or better yet, invite a friend over so you can share in laughs instead of wallowing in darkness.

Choose how you see the loved one you lost. Choose the lens. Choose peace and choose positivity as you heal from this hurt. I am here for you at any time if you struggle with loss or need this support. You will always have a seat at my table, pull up a chair and let’s talk. Like my own loved one used to do, I’ll listen and laugh with you along the way.

- C