The Grief Bomb

No sooner had I written my blog about Mother’s Day when an internal grief bomb exploded. Not exactly surprising.

Initially it appeared in sparks of severe irritation at every little thing that I was doing. Whilst I did stop to ask myself why I was so angry, I moved away from the question before finding any answer.

Instead, I threw myself into preparing for a weekend away where I was attending a training event on loss!

I felt smug and sensible when I got in to bed at 9.30pm in preparation for my 6.30am departure. Whilst I was probably asleep by 10.30pm, I awoke at 4.30am and remained awake. A fact that I felt decidedly unsmug about.

However, after a straight forward journey, I had time for a Costa coffee and a read of the newspaper before my course. What a treat.

The course venue was situated by a beautiful harbour where the blue skied sunshine made me temporarily wish I wasn’t committed to a day inside.

Anyway, the course was fascinating.

Whilst death and loss aren’t the most light hearted of subjects, I am a firm believer that the more we are able to engage with the reality of death, loss and endings, the more we are able to engage with the reality of living, love and new beginnings! And when my time for death comes, I certainly want to know that I have given and received as much of life’s opportunities as possible!

As I listened to some of the speakers talk about how we humans can process and work with our grief, I was reminded of my granddad. Having recently signed up to run a half marathon to raise funds for the hospice my spiritual mother benefitted from, I realised that my own granddad had also been in this hospice. On his last day, he waited until his family were gathered around him before he gave himself to death. In that respect it was a good death; he chose his moment, surrounded by those who loved him.

But in remembering this, I realised that although this happened over twenty years ago, I have not grieved properly. It was as if I had totally blocked his death and his life, despite him being such a significant and beloved part of my childhood.

As I attempted to hold my sadness down to focus on the course, I became more and more exhausted and irritable. It really is so exhausting suppressing emotion yet equally exhausting to engage with them!

By the time I left for my overnight seaside accommodation my eyes were stinging with fatigue. Although I managed a pot of tea and a slice of carrot cake on the pier, I had to go to bed and surrender to sleep straight after.

Whilst Sunday dawned with a bright blue sky and beautiful sunshine, my own temperament was quite different!

I loved sitting in the sea facing cafes enjoying my breakfast and newspapers but I could not stand the increasing presence of other people! I was holding in too much pain which was threatening to slip out in the form of general horribleness!

Fortunately for everyone in the vicinity, I managed to find a quiet place sheltered from the wind but in the sun, from which to devour my newspapers, coffee and sea view. Heavenly.

But of course, underneath my irritable horribleness was the raw pain of ungrieved, grief. And it was only once I arrived back home that I could allow this grief to pour forth once more. After which I felt decidedly lighter and less prone to snarling or spitting.

I remembered that I needed to be kind to myself (and others!) when the grief comes and so I took some time out of my day on Monday to simply be still in the sunshine of my garden.

I also let my key people know that I was in a painful space.

And by Tuesday, I felt more like a human being and less like a wounded animal and I could therefore resume my full responsibilities again.

The grief does of course continue.

But so does life.

All I get to choose is whether I will be kind to myself when I am hurting. My attempts to do so included a trip to a local garden centre where I enjoyed the feel of the sun on my skin, the sound of birdsong and the sight of the flowers. I was even joined by this cute little fella!

As I reflected on the ever changing weather this week; glorious warm sunshine on Monday and cold rain on Tuesday, I realised that this was in direct contrast to my ever changing emotions of misery on Monday followed by a renewed calm on Tuesday.

Like the weather, my emotions come and my emotions go and the more I accept the inevitability of this and ease up on myself accordingly, the more quickly they pass and the better it is for everyone involved!

As if to seal my experience, I saw a rainbow outside my house on Tuesday evening, reminding me that whilst the weather constantly changes as do my emotions, God remains my one true constant throughout both internal and external changes.

How very reassuring.