“Often, that which is hardest to digest, to process, to integrate into our life experience is what ultimately transforms us in a positive way.” ~ Marianne Williamson
I’m turning a corner. I can feel it. I’m rising up again. I love the image of the phoenix flying through the fire.
However, this rising from grief is more like a toddler learning to walk.
I fall to my knees, repeatedly. I stand. I’m walking! I take three steps forward. I try running. I fall. It surprises me. I cry. I crawl.
Sometimes, I’m more comfortable on the floor. Until I’m not.
So, I push myself up. I stand again.
But, rising from grief—or learning to walk with it—isn’t like a little one learning to take steps with a cheering audience.
Although people don’t speak it aloud, something inside me feels the crowd cringing each time I fall again. Unlike a baby who cries for the pain of the moment, each time I trip, memories multiply like dominoes.
My resistance screams from the insane part of my brain where society lives and speaks pretty platitudes—like Time heals all wounds. Does it?
When I cried as a child, my mother often said, “Alice Ann, that’s enough!” If I couldn’t make myself stop crying, she’d send me to my room.
It’s not such a bad move. Alone, I can cry it out and let the sadness run through me.
These days, I’m maturing in my grief. You no longer catch me wailing in public restrooms. Well, at least not as a habit.
I’m turning a corner. Unlike a child who has seemingly only minutes behind her and a whole world to look forward to, my yesterday held me in my beloved’s arms like bookends of a lifetime, making today’s future feel like drudgery.
Still, I remind myself to stand. It’s not my nature to stay down.
Hope whispers as my grief quiets. Remember.
Years ago, I couldn’t fathom I’d turn the corner from divorce and fall into sacred love with my friend Kevin. But, I did.
As we giddily rode the curves of love, we couldn’t imagine he’d die unexpectedly in the dark of one night. But, he did.
So, here I am riding grief’s groove. I’m being graced with an expanded heart and maybe even a sprinkling of wisdom.
She’s telling me a groove can lead to a rut. (Get up!) With grief as my constant companion, it’s seems impossible to set my sights on tomorrow.
Actually, I don’t believe I have to, not any more than I had to seek for love.
See, I lived my moments full, letting my losses of long ago create a wake that propelled me into my destiny.
Sometimes we can’t see that beautiful gift coming at us.
So, I simply choose to embrace this moment. I allow myself to feel what I do in the present and know, by that mysterious force, I’m turning a corner.
4 thoughts on “How I Learned to Turn the Corner in Grief. #bloglikecrazy”
Yes Alice… you have turned the corner AND thank you for taking us with you. So beautifully written.
Thank you for joining me on the ride, Barb. You’re one of my heroes on the grief journey. It’s been enough time that may not even seem a part of your identity any more, which is why you’re such a beautiful example.
You bet you’ve turned a corner and with eloquence and seasoned with a reality that gives me hope. I am a mile or so behind you on this road of grief. Thank you for pointing out the potholes. Love the authentic you.
Oh girl, watch for those potholes, but keep driving. There’s more on this beautiful road of grief.