I began the week with one foot in grief and the other in the present, trying to stay centered with what needed to be done instead of sinking in the quicksand of what couldn't be.
The recognition of grief is profound, considering I used to not know when I was grieving, unless, of course, someone actually died then I could put two and two together.
What I didn't know was that grief accompanies any loss, large or small. And, as one dear friend of mine suggested, feelings are meant to flow in and then flow out. My feelings flowed in alright, but I wasn't big on letting them flow out—that might mean I'd actually have to feel them.
My grief centers around the lost-plan of moving back to Montana. Now, me wanting to move back doesn't mean that where I live now is wrong or bad, because that couldn't be further from the truth. Which brings up the other realization I had: I can have multiple feelings, even conflicting feelings, simultaneously.
I used to think one feeling canceled another, or should, but that's not true.
I have grief in not moving this year, but I also have gratitude for where I am.
When I dropped my boys off at school this morning and stopped in the Metro for a cup of coffee, I was delighted to be there. I appreciated every minute in the Metro, writing non-stop on a short story I'm finishing for a submission later this month.
And later in the day when I locked my keys and purse in Luna (our Landcruiser), I was pleased to know that I had friends that would come and help me out. And I got the added bonus of visiting with a friend while we drove all the way out to the airport to get my husband's keys.
In the middle of what is pleasant there is grief, right under the surface, not enough to pull me under the water, just enough to periodically poke me in the side. What I've learned, when that happens, is to let the grief flow in and then flow out, so I can feel it, as it is, without embarrassment or judgment.
Amazingly enough, the grief passes and then the pleasant I'm-okay-feelings surface until the grief flows in again, but with each letting out the grief is less potent, less consuming, and before long I begin to feel freedom from grief.
What a magnificent process.
The recognition of grief is profound, considering I used to not know when I was grieving, unless, of course, someone actually died then I could put two and two together.
What I didn't know was that grief accompanies any loss, large or small. And, as one dear friend of mine suggested, feelings are meant to flow in and then flow out. My feelings flowed in alright, but I wasn't big on letting them flow out—that might mean I'd actually have to feel them.
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I used to think one feeling canceled another, or should, but that's not true.
I have grief in not moving this year, but I also have gratitude for where I am.
When I dropped my boys off at school this morning and stopped in the Metro for a cup of coffee, I was delighted to be there. I appreciated every minute in the Metro, writing non-stop on a short story I'm finishing for a submission later this month.
And later in the day when I locked my keys and purse in Luna (our Landcruiser), I was pleased to know that I had friends that would come and help me out. And I got the added bonus of visiting with a friend while we drove all the way out to the airport to get my husband's keys.
In the middle of what is pleasant there is grief, right under the surface, not enough to pull me under the water, just enough to periodically poke me in the side. What I've learned, when that happens, is to let the grief flow in and then flow out, so I can feel it, as it is, without embarrassment or judgment.
Amazingly enough, the grief passes and then the pleasant I'm-okay-feelings surface until the grief flows in again, but with each letting out the grief is less potent, less consuming, and before long I begin to feel freedom from grief.
What a magnificent process.
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