There are more, but I recall three poignant times where loss swept down from out of nowhere and trounced me. The first periods of one to two days in those losses overwhelmed my ability to absorb fully what was happening.
The first loss, September 22, 2003, I was advised by my then-wife at 8pm on that Monday evening, on the same day I’d contracted a mild influenza and had received bad news on the career front, that our marriage was over and that I was required to move out. The second loss, July 1, 2014, we’d received news you never prepare for—at our prenatal ultrasound scan we were told our baby would not survive. The third loss, October 31, 2014, was at the other end of the second loss, 24-hours after Nathanael had been stillborn full-term, and we had him there with us on Sarah’s hospital bed.
At the time of the first loss, I drove around our city for most of the night thoroughly confused for what or how to feel, and yet I felt the fullness of the glimpse of a whole range of emotion. I was in utter disbelief. I was angry with myself, bargaining with my then-wife in my mind. I was feeling things I’d NEVER felt before, like a regret of “it’s too late”. My entire life was flashing before my eyes, as if I was to say goodbye to it, as I would be required to do. The thing was, I couldn’t ground my emotionality in any one emotion. Outright betwixt and between.
At the time of the second loss, we were completely blindsided. As all couples probably do, we went along to the 20-week ultrasound to get some pretty baby photos to later post to Facebook. When the doctor took us to his room to break the news with watery eyes, leaving those rooms, driving home, advising family, and existing for the next day or two was a complete blur. I’m sure writing about our journey helped me ground the grief experience in a reality I learned to bear one day at a time.
At the time of the third loss, the gravitas of our plight with Nathanael had come full circle—we were in the inescapable reality of loss having borne the burden of the ambiguity of grief for the previous four months. Having been blessed with support of our family and closest friends who visited us with Nathanael, 24-hours after his stillbirth we were finally alone and therefore unable to escape the enormity that finally he was gone. Even though we were together, it was one of the loneliest moments of my life.
Within each of these one-to-two-day periods after loss, there were moments of disbelief such that even though you know what’s happening, the soul reels with what is incomprehensible. These burgeoning “realities” are far too big to absorb.
Once these moments of numbness were over, however, the gravity truly hit hard.
Without agreeing to the transaction, you swap the confusion of not knowing what or how to feel with a rollercoaster, feeling more grounded in the depths of shock, anger, denial, bargaining, depression, even acceptance. What’s worse, feeling more grounded in such devastating emotions, or feeling utterly befuddled in how to respond emotionally?
But, being what loss is, the non-negotiable entrance to the journey of grief, you continue to step each day, not knowing what emotional stage you’ll appear on. What’s most disconcerting about that is the idea that there is both numbness and gravitas about each and every emotional reality known to grief.
~
As I reflect about the objectives of loss, I know that loss has taught me so much. What’s most noteworthy is how loss informs how we’re to live in the present and future.
Because there’s so much fear in loss, I think that being in fear so much, we resolve ourselves to living more fearlessly than ever, we have less time for regret, and therefore we have fewer regrets. We become revenants, having died, and therefore have much less then to lose and much more to gain in simply living.
Within the enormity of grief is the witness of that which feels as if it should and will kill us but that which makes us stronger in the long haul when we find we’ve survived it.
Wherever you’re at in your loss and grief journey, know that you’re not alone, that you’re strong for simply being, no matter how weak you will often feel. Your future self will thank you for doing what you’re doing right now, so keep the faith, keep it simple, go gently.
No comments:
Post a Comment