Dark clouds, grey skies and rain. The last few days have felt like an unwanted mirror to the dark, damp places in my heart. Frankly, I thought I was doing okay. I mean, yeah, still a work in progress, no doubt. But, what is it about a dark sky that rattles the doors to the places that you would rather just keep shut?
Meanwhile, a friend from church has been telling me about a Grief Share group since Aaron’s passing. When he first mentioned it back in June of last year, I wished I had attended something like that when my mom passed in 2009. But I wasn’t connected to a church back then. Or to God for that matter. When I look back, I wonder how I made it through my mom’s terminal diagnosis, my denial, her decline, some upsetting family dynamics and eventually her passing, all within three months.
I’m still not over the family stuff. I should probably work through that at some point.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to attend the Grief Share meeting. It’s just...I was in therapy, after all...watching green lights flash back and forth on a super cool light bar for weeks on end. And I blogged, like a real blogger there for a minute. I was back in my own house, sleeping in my own room just eight days after Aaron died. Granted, it’d take me forever to get to sleep because I’d open my eyes every 5 seconds but I still regained lost ground.
Alan continued to keep me updated about the meetings over the course of the last eight months.
I continued to not go.
I felt my armor was holding up pretty well. Sure, I had my moments and still do (all normal), but I was dressed for battle and holding my own against grief.
Then the clouds came. The skies drew dark. I turned on every light in the house but it didn’t help. I was literally in denial about it being gloomy outside. Then my cell phone chirped:
“Hey Lisa, just a reminder that Grief Share starts the 19th at 11:00.”
“Thanks Alan!"
So yesterday, when church let out at 10:30, I avoided Grief Share by heading to Dunkin Donuts for some glazed deliciousness and a small coffee (Not to worry, I squeezed it into my macros)! I tried to enjoy my snack without paying attention to the time on my cell phone. But when it got to be 10:51 am, I knew if I was perhaps, possibly, probably not, but maybe, going to Grief Share, I had to leave 5 minutes ago. I took one more sip of coffee, cleaned off my table and left, passing Ocotillo Rd. which would have taken me back to my house.
I’ll just turn south on 14th St to head home....I’m not going to Grief Share.
Then I passed 14th Street. And, 12th. And, then 7th. And, eventually I found myself walking into the room where the Grief Share meeting was already taking place.
I was handed my own workbook, a Sharpie and some paperwork. I finished the questionairre just in time for it to be my turn to introduce myself and share who I lost.
“Uhm. Sorry I was late...I wasn't going to come....I was eating a glazed donut.” Some laughed. Some nodded their head in genuine empathetic agreement.
I spent just 20 seconds explaining who I had lost and the manner of their passing and my throat felt like it was being clenched tightly by someone's fist the entire time. Throughout the meeting, that knot would return when something that was said during the video would pierce my heart or when I'd see someone else in the room struggling with their grief.
It's easy to eventually place our grief on a shelf. We get to a place where we're functioning so well, and we want to continue that way. We dress ourselves in armor and walk around seemingly 'fixed' but grief has layers that beg to be peeled back. If we don't address it, sometimes it takes the rain to come and the clouds to hold the sun hostage and keep it from shining....
...and, that’s when you see it.
When there isn't any light reflecting so brightly off the armor, you see the chink. It was always there. And, it always will be. It's just eventually it won't be so noticeable. And, with all the work I've done so far, my armor still looks pretty solid.
...and, that’s when you see it.
When there isn't any light reflecting so brightly off the armor, you see the chink. It was always there. And, it always will be. It's just eventually it won't be so noticeable. And, with all the work I've done so far, my armor still looks pretty solid.
But, yeah I'll possibly, perhaps, most likely continue on with the Grief Share 13-week series. I've always said grief can't be ignored (not when it's cloudy anyway). And truly it's there to serve me, not to do battle with me. It's there to remind me that perhaps I have some chinks to address; another layer I need to strip away.
Regardless that I've made the decision to again partner with grief and see what comes up this time around, rather than to try to fight it back, I'm still sporting my suit of armor. It's kinda badass. Sure, on dark cloudy days it's a little dull but when the sun is shining, and I have a feeling that even when I'm indoors attending Grief Share, the armor relects the Light beautifully.
