Today marks ten weeks since my mom died. In the beginning, time is marked by days, then by weeks, then by months. Each transition less fathomable; each shift in perspective more difficult than the last. Even as the hypervigilance of caring for someone as they’re departing this earth subsides, as breath comes a little more gently, sleep a little more regular, we come to notice both relief and how the space created by our loss becomes more pronounced.
Oh, so this is what it feels like to live with my person gone.
None of it easy. And all of it a natural part of the process of acclimatizing to the world without our loved one physically in it.
As a reader of this blog, and perhaps as someone who has followed me for a while, you know my worldview is one of living in direct relationship with the wonder and mystery in all things. Yet, I’ve become aware over the past month or so, a feeling of flatness and a vague wondering in the mind...where is the magic? Hearts were still finding me, I was still noticing nudges from my mom from beyond in the sweetest of places, but I wasn’t feeling it as magic, as if the lightness and delight of wonder wasn’t quite reaching me.
On Sunday as we took our early morning romp at the park, I held this as an inquiry – if I know there’s magic surrounding us always, if I trust it as a way of being in relationship with the world, why wasn’t I feeling it? Was I not seeing it? Was I taking it for granted? Or was it something else?
A light snow fell as we walked, Ritter running from here to there, burying himself up to his eyeballs in the grasses in search of field mice or other critters stirring beneath the snow. The churn of clouds overhead an indication of a deeper weather current brewing. Pileated Woodpeckers laughing in the woods beyond amidst a chorus of chickadees, cardinals, and Blue Jays preparing for the coming storm. I saw it, I heard it, I witnessed it all and I even appreciated it. But was it magic, as I might normally experience it? Or was it simply what was happening in that moment?
Was grief casting a shadow over it all?
Coming closer to the parking lot at the end of our stroll, my hubby was many yards ahead of me. I noticed he stopped at a naturalist trail sign veiled in white and looked back at me with a mischievous grin – he had drawn a heart with his finger on this blank canvas for me to find. Tears welled and warmth bloomed in my heart – ah, there it was. He was the magic, or rather, his simple loving act opened the door for me to realize that it wasn’t that magic no longer existed, but that I needed to choose to let it in. To let myself be surprised. To feel the love that permeates all things.
Even still in a world without my mom in it.
Oof. It’s natural to shy away from feeling the hole in our soul left by the death of someone essential to us. If I’m honest, I wasn’t feeling the magic because I was separating myself from it in order to protect myself from feeling my grief. Understandable, and... the reality of this is that we can’t block one without blocking the other.
We need it all.
In kindness to ourselves and our individual grieving process, we need to realize that this kind of protection happens on purpose — there is no rush. And when the timing is right – like when I got curious about where the magic went – we can bravely and consciously make the choice, little bit by little bit, to open ourselves to the magic of our fullness.//
How have you noticed in your own relationship with grief how steering clear of your pain cuts you off from experiencing joy?
Very impactful! Thanks for sharing