Archives for posts with tag: grieving

I’m sometimes quite astonished by the will people can bring to hurting each other. I’d rather not contemplate it more, at least not right now. Hell, right about now, I’d rather be thinking of almost anything besides right now. Damned awkward, what with all the mindfulness practices, and meditation, and taking care of me, and such. lol I’m feeling very present, very aware. I hurt, and although a lot of it is old pain, and old baggage, some of it is far less so.

I am learning to deal with anger – new anger, never before shared anger, bright white-hot precise anger – and learning to be more open to the honest information in the feeling of it, what set it off, why it matters, what underlying value it speaks to. That underlying value is pretty significant. I’ve been surprised more than once by what was truly driving my anger, and often by how small a thing it really seemed to be. This time? Hurt feelings drive my anger. Disappointment that a friend to whom I gave significant emotional support and nurturing during a difficult time, never seems able to return the favor, worse – my friend often seems to be in the midst of some intense drama about something somehow more urgent or more important, that pretty reliably comes up after I make a point of setting clear expectations about ‘where I’m at’ or what I’m struggling with, asking for support, or expressing limits or boundaries.

I look at those words with some astonishment. They’re true. Honest. I feel vulnerable admitting to hurt feelings over something so small (we are each having our own experience, and the pain we feel ourselves hurts the most, generally), but a little embarrassed to realize the words I wrote apply equally well to the way I’ve often treated myself: without consideration, without compassion, without kindness. I have no particular say in how someone else chooses to behave, but I have endless choices how I see things, how I respond, and what I do to meet my own needs best, over time. Better still – just knowing how much it hurts to be treated so poorly, and to see with such clarity that these are things I have done to myself, feels like a huge opportunity, a gift, a new perspective and a chance to see a bit farther along my journey; new choices are now open to me, and one is the everyday opportunity to treat myself well – more well? Better. To be considerate of my own needs. To respect myself, my body, my values, my experience, my voice. To be compassionate with myself, because I am still quite human. To be open to trying something new, and practicing something that works, and understanding that building skill takes time. Even choices to reciprocate the kindness of others, and the support offered to me when I needed it most; there is always someone else who could use a hand, and the value of kindness isn’t in recognition.

A trestle bridge along the Banks-Vernonia Trail, and a lovely metaphor for making a connection.

A trestle bridge along the Banks-Vernonia Trail, and a lovely metaphor for making a connection, crossing a bridge, along a journey.

A moment of anger somehow becomes a lesson in perspective, and emotional  self-sufficiency, and a gentle end to a trying afternoon.

I lost someone yesterday. Actually, that’s ludicrously selfish of me, and quite inaccurate. We all ‘lost someone’ – it happens every day. In this case, a man once went to war, came home, lived some portion of his life after we lost touch, and yesterday he chose to end it. I found out fairly promptly, from another friend. What’s odd is that I never heard about birthdays, weddings, divorces, vacations…he only recently joined the Facebook masses. We’d only recently reconnected.  Life can be very like a soap bubble, sometimes, fragile and impermanent.

I wept at the loss of a piece of myself, however small. I wept that we hadn’t shared more, longer, and that I really just don’t know what burden had become to heavy to carry further. I contemplated other lives that ended, one way or another, and gave a moment of heartfelt loving recollection of times shared, and moments worthy of remembrance. My thoughts were of family, and love, and struggle, and warfare; good memories and difficult memories, exciting ones, and commonplace ones, all had their turn. I wept because however much I ever know about those dear to me, and however much they know about me, there always seems to remain unsaid what lacked words; I find myself wondering if I could have said more, or listened more skillfully.

A moment of reflection: life, love, honor...

A moment of reflection: life, love, honor…

Always. Never. These are words I work hard to avoid; they nearly guarantee a logical fallacy as soon as they are dropped into a sentence. How is it they come up so often in a moment of grieving?

“Man down”. At 51 I guess I will start to hear it more often. Those were the words on the phone, when I answered. “Man down. We’ve lost another one.” Enough detail to move on with grieving. Suicide is uncomfortable to contemplate, at least for me. It puts the pain of despair too near to my own pain.  So far, I continue to choose life over death, myself, but I understand considering it.

Every journey ends

Every journey ends

Someday the phone call will be for me… a friend will call another friend, then the pause… “Man down.” I hope I too will be described as having ‘served with honor’; from my friends that is a very big deal indeed.

Today is a good day to embrace life and love, and to live wholly invested in the experience, and present in the moment. There isn’t any other, and this one is very much worth it.

It is a Monday. It isn’t a good or bad day, it’s barely even gotten started.

Yesterday evening I had a moment or two of down-deep grieving.

In one case, I experienced the pain and sorrow of seeing people dear to me behave in completely unacceptable ways, and however understandably so, still not okay.  Lingering concerns ride shotgun with me this morning as I ready myself for the day.

In the other case, the wee fish Wyatt surprised me after work by being dead.  That’s just not ever a fun sort of surprise.  As life lessons go, I would have preferred another day, a different fish, or not at all.  I wept without reservations, and found comfort with my partner, who was near-by reading, and as surprised as I was.  He’d also been enjoying looking in on the new guy now and then and had seen him moving about contentedly earlier in the day.  (Oddly, this bit of grief felt so intense in the moment, and seems to have passed.  To be fair, Wyatt had only been mine for about 5 days.  He hadn’t even left quarantine. )

I took it pretty hard in the moment, tears and a feeling of failure, blaming myself – what did I/didn’t I do?  As my emotions began to ramp up my partner turned up, put his hand on me gently and said ”fish die”.  My whole being paused for just a moment, hearing that.  Well, of course. “Fish die.” Yes, they do. Things that live eventually become something that died. Fish, people, dreams… “Fish die.”  It was simple, true, and an observation in the moment that helped me become grounded and calm.

I’m pretty human. I do have a brain injury, and post-traumatic stress. Keeping an aquarium is new for me, and filled with complex process work – I study the tasks and processes that support life in my aquarium as though there is going to be a final exam at the end of the semester. Of course there is; fish die.  It is my honor and responsibility to create a habitat for my fish that supports life for them, that allows them to thrive, not merely endure.  That sense of responsibility is one I bring to my other relationships, too, a step beyond ‘above all do no damage’.

I did some science-y stuff to ensure I learn what I can from the experience: tested the water, looked for process missteps (found a couple that ought not have proved fatal, but better attention to details would have prevented them nonetheless). I observed the environment closely after the fact and made notes about improvements on the next quarantine, and checked those observations against my thriving community tank to ensure I wasn’t carry errors from one to the other.  I made notes improving process steps for my quarantine tear-down/set up checklist. I took a few deep breaths, and said good-bye to Wyatt.  I cried. I cried like a little girl to find him dead.  Some of life’s curriculum is pretty deep.

Today is an entirely new experience. I woke calm this morning, and curious what the day will hold. I slept well and deeply.  I sit, sipping  my coffee, and considering the struggles we have as beings, some shared, some that feel so solitary.  I contemplate the choices we make, and how easily we can choose and choose again, and rage against the outcome of our own choices, seemingly unaware that if the outcome is repeatable, and predictably follows a specific identifiable choice, then we utterly control that experience, not only through our reactions to it, but through the choices that bring us there.  Don’t want it? Don’t choose it.  Simple enough, generally, however tough we may make the process of making a different choice.

Today I choose compassion. I choose tenderness. I choose kindness. Today I choose to smile; there is a lot to smile about. Today I choose eye-contact and conversation; we all spend far to much time feeling alone. Today I choose to change the world.

…Or not.  I’m taking a day or two off writing. Not because there is nothing to say; it is more a matter of putting the emphasis on now, and being with my partners.

We’ve had a death in the family, you see, and honoring my loved ones, being there for each of them, all of us together and focused on individual and shared grief in an honest and supportive way doesn’t leave much room for musing about the flotsam and jetsam of my thoughts and experiences, however beneficial it is for me.  This is not the time for amusing anecdotes shared with the world, or fun amateur snapshots of flowers as I walk to work, at least, not for me. Life requires my utter attention for now, as do my loved ones, and when the heart’s tide turns, and the emotional storms settle back to calm waves, I’ll write… or perhaps find myself more moved to write at twilight than at dawn, for a while.

I will observe that I’ve been honored to see some amazing moments of strength, grace, compassion, and mutual support from my loved ones.  We’ve each brought who we are to the stress of sudden loss, and I find myself impressed and awed by these amazing beings that share my life; strong, caring, vulnerable, and willing to really give to one another in moments of incredible personal pain. I am wowed, moved, and incredibly honored to be part of this family we have chosen to create together.

For now, it’s a matter of work and routine, as we each ‘hold our end up’ and get on with the business of living our lives while we deal with pain and grief, holding on to what we know in the face of so much we can never know.  Tonight I’ll put birdseed out, and hang the hummingbird feeder, meditate, and perhaps read quietly or watch a show with my partners as evening turns to night.  One foot in front of the other…each night followed by another dawn. I’m ok…I think we all are…certainly we are well-loved, and supported by many.  Certainly love remains more important than death, at least for the living.