Grief Work

Grieving is work, very hard, demanding, encompassing, sometimes lonely, exhausting, painful WORK. When we hear the phrase "grief work" it means to me, now, that those who are undergoing such a journey in their lives have to "work" at it to get up, find their way, maneuver, breathe, live, embrace, and accept. When we mesh all the facets of grief together God only knows the "work" it takes to keep keeping on, to show up, to be present with oneself, to carry on the traditions, while making new ones, to gaze into the new photographs with the missing person so prevalent in our hearts, the once family of four, or the new parents who don't hold the baby for the first photographs, or the couple who have now become one. Yet, here it is, part of life. Grief. And loss. And it can consume you, me, others, if we let it. We try not to, don't we? We try to continue on as if everything is "normal", yet what is normal any more?

My grief work, as I call it, consists of many layers. The readings, the praying, the time spent in solitude, time spent with others, walking, moving, the travels, the visits to my sister and brother in law's home, where cancer has invaded with a vengeance. That is where I sit this morning, with a soft breeze outside the window, the chimes are ringing, the seagulls are chirping (do they chirp??), the air indicates a beach day, hallelujah, a beach day in May! Yet, in all the beauty, here they go, Karen and Michael, off for another round of radiation, doctor appointments, consultations, blood work, and today, they will live their cancer journey one more time. They have now joined the ranks of so many others whose paths they will cross and fight today, to live.

The object of GOOD grief is to remember and not relive, so I have been told. God knows how many times I come to Him to ask me NOT to relive the moments, the diagnosis, the shaving of her head, the sister bond that was physically broken for life, the struggle to simply breathe (something most of us take for granted), the words she had to hear, the pain, the fast growing and all consuming cancer, the side effects, the all knowing look in her eyes that her days with us were coming to a halt. It takes a conscious effort, almost daily, to send those thoughts to a place they can be shelved, and to focus on her life. Here, I can do that with a little more ease. I can remember the days at the beach, the cousins playing in the sand, the first crush on a young man, the camp counselor she became, the woman she was destined to be, I can remember and hear her laughter, feel the comfort of her soul as she could be what she wanted to be, right here in her haven by the sea.

I can do all these things at home, too. But it takes a bit more effort at times because the pain and the moments are in my daily walk. They are in the bedroom, in the pile of items from her Chicago apartment, in the whirlpool tub, in the car, on the deck. My grief work is never fully done, I can't lay my head down at night and say that it is over for this day, and I will start anew tomorrow. It never leaves me, my side, my shadow, my heart, my being. My grief work takes twists and turns as I strive to remember and not relive. What purpose will that serve anyway? Yet, in the depths of the subconscious part of my soul, there it comes again, and the work begins anew, fresh and raw, and I go to work, again and again and again.

My grief work consists of putting her life front and center, recalling the time we had, ever so grateful for it, and slowly but surely, some of the cancer journey that took her from us way too soon, is fading, a bit, and the life she lived is taking front stage. I have prayed the prayer so often that I hope God does not tire of hearing it, the prayer of being healed of the power that those memories had over me. Lord, help me remember her life, her spirit, her laughter, her scent, her plans, and not what took her from us. And God, I know you are perfect, nature is not, and I know you cry for me, as I cry for myself. But the beauty is you give me a new day, a continued reason to live, a fight within that tells me this is all for your own purpose, and that one day I will fully understand. As Karen and Michael walked out the door today to fight the cancer, to live, I saw that glimmer of why and how God is using Allison in such powerful ways.

My grief work is a work in progress. It has its ups and downs. It changes like the weather. But it is my work and I will make it my life's mission to keep keeping on, showing up when I can, following my spirit, and remembering, with God's grace, the beauty of a life that changed many, forever.