This week has seen me enjoying a bit of space to simply be, in between the usual commitments.
What a treat.
It has enabled me to do a little processing of recent events such as the sudden death of a young woman. This has also tapped in to the death of my spiritual mother.
I was aided in my ability to engage on a heart level with these deaths via a book a friend lent me. It is called Love, Interrupted, by Simon Thomas. It is an incredibly honest account of Simon’s experience of losing his wife, the mother of his child, within the space of three days. It is quite simply, heart rending.
It serves as a painful reminder of how utterly cruel life sometimes is as well as illustrating the subsequent suffering that such heartache inflicts upon those experiencing it. Not just the death but all the losses that ripple out afterwards; the loss of how it was, the loss of no longer being like others or having what others have. It is almost a series of mini deaths of life as it was known, that follow the initial death.
And, due to the lack of honest conversation around the reality of death or loss, those losses that follow often go unnoticed. At least they do by those not experiencing them. This can really add pain to a process that can already feel unbearable.
I haven’t quite finished reading this book yet and part of me doesn’t want to. Ironically I’m avoiding it ending! I just find it so refreshing and reassuring to read of someone being so honest about the harsh reality of death, the losses that follow and the messy impact it has upon the human heart.
It is rare for someone to resist the urge to down play such a process for fear of whether others can handle it. But I have only the utmost respect for the writer’s courage in sharing this deeply painful, isolating, lonely, angry, messy experience whilst also managing to find moments of utter beauty and joy as him and his son continue to create new ways of living alongside the ongoing loss.
For anyone wanting a better understanding of how grief can be, I would totally recommend this book.
Death and loss are of course an unavoidable part of life.
As much as we don’t like to talk about it, death will come to us all and none amongst us know when.
And whilst death is the most obvious form of loss, it is most certainly not the only form. Loss comes in many guises, lots of which are not visible or acknowledged. Loss may come via the ending or death of a certain situation being what it once was whether a career, health, relationship or anything else. It may also be present via the loss of something that has not happened or been the way we have wanted or anticipated.
Loss infiltrates our lives subtly by continuously.
Things change, situations change, we change.
Death happens.
Life happens.
Change is unavoidable.
And loss runs throughout these realities.
I was reflecting upon these themes during my precious free moments this week. Loss and death are such inevitable and yet painful aspects of our experience of being human.
And yet, all around us, new beginnings and life are equally at work. They don’t cancel one another out or render each other any less meaningful or painful, they simply co-exist.
It has given me great pleasure this week to see the new buds of life that continue to appear in my garden at the moment, from roses to sweetpea’s to clematis. They symbolise such hope. For whilst parts of life are constantly ending and changing, my garden reminds me that new parts continue to emerge and develop.
I love this.
Well, I love the new growth more than I love the old endings and loss! But I do love the way both make up the whole picture.
It is not always easy when there is a loss of the way things were but the more we allow ourselves to engage with the emotional reality of this, the more we become able to notice and embrace the new life that begins to peak through.
I’ve experienced clear moments of the spark of life and joy erupting back through me this week following the stunned haze left by the recent death.
I’m grateful.
Death and loss keep happening.
But so does new life and growth.