Tag Archives: healing

After you died.

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After you died I would drive out to the middle of nowhere just to scream. Drive out to the middle of nowhere listening to Madonna’s The Power of Goodbye. Singing at the top of my lungs, “You were my lesson I had to learn.” And then the screaming. Scream and scream and scream. Drop to my knees and scream. At the top of my lungs until I couldn’t scream anymore. Then I would weep. Sob. Crumple up like the spent blossoms from the flowers I took home from your funeral. Fall completely to the ground clutching handfuls of sand in my tired hands, letting it sift through my fingers. The fingers that used to intertwine with yours. The weight of your death, yours, not mine, presses on me. Flattens me to the earth until all the air is forced out of my body and I feel like I’ve been driven six feet under. Every single breath expelled until there is nothing left. No Thing. Rolling to my back I look to the sky. Blue like your eyes. Bright heat warming my body. My back to the earth. Damp heat on my cheeks from the tears I’ve cried. Blinking. Blinded. Wondering. Wandering in thoughts. Where does this exhaustion come from? This bone seeping, entire being, scorching exhaustion that I can only define as loss, grief. That is mine. The grief. The loss. Maybe your death is not mine. But the loss is. What was once there, by my side. Gone. Loss. Less. A subtraction from this life that adds more weight. People say it gets better with time to which I reply, “Does it?”. Then they have no answer and that is ok with me. Silence. That is the answer I want. Quiet. For people to not say anything. To be in the middle of nowhere where I can scream and there is no answer. Where it’s just me screaming and maybe you are listening from wherever you are, and your answer is silence. That’s what I want the most. That’s what I want to remember the most. The silence between us. How we never had to say a word. When nothing, no thing mattered, except us. I couldn’t stay there forever, and you didn’t stay here forever. And I can’t stay here forever. It’s time to go back. I need a different song on the drive back because I know the only way to survive, to some day find joy again, is to bear down on the beautiful bastard that this life can be without you in it. To be ready when it’s time to really live again. Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On takes me home and I sing to my favorite lyrics “Since we’ve got to be here. Let’s live. I love you.” Yes, let’s get it on. Life. Love. Whatever comes next.

The solitude of the desert is one of the most healing places I have discovered.
In a desolate place there is so much life. Barren stark beauty and bounty. Pockets of joy. ❤️

Retire

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Retire, retired, retirement….When I read the definition of retire the word that catches me is withdraw. That word gives me an aha moment. Withdraw- to take back, to retreat. To take what back? To retreat from what? At this time and place I am taking back my sense of Being. Retiring from the incessant pressure to do in a world desperate for certainty and control. As I made this transition and shared it with people the question asked most often was, ‘What are you going to DO?” What’s next?” The answer I felt drawn to give was “Just BE. I’m just going to be. Wake and see where the day takes me.” Granted I have this opportunity because I’ve put in some time doing. Doing what is expected to get here. The real answer of what is next is to enjoy the Sabbath God provides, and know next will come along whether I’m ready or not. Other reactions to this transition have made me smile and reflect. One friend said, “You’re pretty young to be retired.” True. Another said, “Oh yeah, I know someone who retired early and was bored stiff within 2 months.” Sad. Retire doesn’t mean done living, or serving, or learning, or growing. At the end of the definition there is a brief line about winning permanent possession of (as a trophy). That is how I feel at this moment in time. I’ve won permanent possession of my God-given life, and as I retreat we’ll see what wonderful wilderness I end up in.

Unraveling Grief

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I have been barreling through life at break neck speed. Anytime anything happened that warranted grief I wrapped it up and put it on a shelf labeled “to deal with later”. It is finally later. I never fully understood loss and I don’t think I have ever really been capable of grief. Until now. Grief is not an emotion. It is a complex unraveling of an event or series of events in order to come to a place of understanding. I am letting go of something that is so intrinsically woven into the fabric of my being that it has been a slow, delicate surgery with no anesthesia to remove it. As the last pieces are peeled away from my core it dawned on me I think I am grieving. Looking back I think I have been grieving for awhile. The point at which the denial set in is not really clear, but this “thing” was clearly dead years ago. I clung to it like I was hanging on to a flotation device in open water. Anger has been a hornet’s nest that I kicked and just kept getting stung. Bargaining is sneaky, and I tried to make a million deals with it so I did not have to really face this. I found out that depression is a part of grief. This is not depression in the same sense of a person who suffers from depression. It is a subtle form of sadness, despair, dullness and apathy that soaks into flesh and bones and slowly sucks any remaining ounce of life out of the body and soul. I did not want to admit this feeling. Once I named it, a huge burden was lifted and energy is seeping back in giving fuel to my spirit. This thing that I am letting go of is just a thing, but everything I have been stock piling on that shelf labeled “to deal with later” tumbled down as I stacked this box on top. Acceptance hit me and whispered let go. Acceptance is the doorway to hope and healing.  It is time to slow down. Take a breath. Let it all sink in and fully, completely grieve for a life I am done living.

Healing

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Redwoods

I woke up thinking about healing. The definition of healing that I dig is growing sound. Grow- increase, mature, come into existence. Sound- free from damage, firm, solid. Healing is a process. Certain conditions must take place for healing to happen. Healing is also an abstract idea that encompasses more than the eye can behold. Two more thoughts came to my mind. At what age did I get the idea that I was no longer growing? I am now grown up. What does that even mean? I don’t know and have decided I don’t want to know. Instead I want to be healing or growing sound. Coming into existence free from damage. That is what I will reach for. That is a concept I can truly wrap my mind and heart around.