Grief Journey Part 1

I am a traveler.

I am a wanderer.

I am a treasure seeker.

I am a gallivanter.

My grief did not begin with my Mother's passing. My grief began years earlier with what seemed like a rapid fire succession of deaths around me. 

A few years ago, I spewed the contents of my weary heart at midnight as my Mom and I traveled East on the 10 freeway. Our mission was to surprise my brother for his birthday. As I was in the middle of a  rant about how overwhelmed and mentally exhausted I felt about the losses and praying for some relief, the phone rang. My Dad's voice interrupted my emotional eruption with some sad news. "I called to tell you that Granny just passed". 

I sat in silence looking out at the star filled sky. No response. My words suddenly deserted me in the literal desert. 

Two or three, maybe even four funerals later, I found myself tip toeing through life as if one false move could set off an avalanche of death. While on the outside, I could present the gift of an inspirational scripture wrapped in a pretty bow to those who have come to appreciate the power of my words, I felt like the kid who received coal on Christmas morning. 

Loss can be tricky.  In our attempt to make sense of the trauma, we often concoct coping mechanisms just to help us make it through our days. The disengaging hopelessness and utter confusion that sometimes ensues after death doesn't always happen suddenly. They creep up like a slow growing vine attaching itself to a brick wall.

My grief was slow rising. 

In pre-pandemic 2020, a beloved coworker was instantly and tragically killed in a car accident. The managerial team gathered us to publicly announce her passing. Tears, sobbing, and huddles of mourners erupted all over the room. As I offered comfort, I became aware that for many of us this grief did not begin with this most recent news. This heartbreak gave permission for all of our sorrow to flow from the depths of our souls to our eyes. We stood there crying for hurts and losses that no longer could be named. 

"We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, 'Blessed are they that mourn,' and I accept it. I've got nothing that I hadn't bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not imagination". -C.S. Lewis 

I am a traveler on a grief journey making my way through the thicket of pain; running, walking, and sometimes crawling towards the light streaming through the forest. 

But there is light.

I typed that last sentence for the reader who fears their own grief so much so that they are uncomfortable with endings that don't contain a glimmer of hope. And I want to acknowledge everyone reading who can't yet see any sunshine in their dark hour. I've been in both places.

Xoxo,

Jodi