Grieving More Than a Death, Grieving More Than a Life: part 2
If you missed part 1, best to read it first as this is a continuum. My best friend died 6 months ago, my fellow child in play, creativity and cheerleader extraordinaire. She was not perfect in any way, but much like a good mum, dad or gramps, she was perfect for me. The second half of my blood brothers, pinky swear club. After living in a self-induced walking dead, I decided to put all these things on paper for you my reader. If you are still here, I am sure there are a few casualties out there, you are my reader. I am writing this because the ideas that haunt me are just that, haunting ideas. Giving them bones and muscle and skin and piercings makes them more manageable. I found medium just a few weeks ago and I am hooked. I read my daily quota of about 5 articles and then have to announce a last call or I will sit at this bar until my clock scolds me 5 hours later. Back to giving flesh to my ideas. The writing is not only therapeutic but also a bit unnerving. I have to admit I have been a walking dead. I have to choose my words to go from self-pity to self-incriminating. Did I give up on life? No, I think rather I needed to recalibrate. You see, I lived a life that was crazy, I admit, but it was real and honest and authentic. My friend allowed me the headspace to do that. She gave me the floor when I needed to steam, vent about crappy co-workers or bosses or family. She validated me when I wondered if I was the crazy one in that argument. She steered me back to the art and writing that I loved but sacrificed for others and sacrificed for my ideas of success. We both loved being childlike after having seen the ugly side of people and having been on the horror side of abuse. Living authentic was not an option. It was a necessity and owning your part in the mistakes of your 50 years was also necessary. We gave each other a safe, nonjudging, affirming place to do that. We could be the best for each other. Wow! I lost big! Can I run into Sears and get another model like the one that broke? Nope, SOL buddy. You’re going to have to figure out how to live without it. So, grieving her death is grieving my life. And grieving my life without her is grieving a death of something I cannot ever get back. It is no more. I have to live like I never had it. Whoa, how does that work? No idea. I am in new territory. Hence the 3 months of staring out the window and not giving a thought about needs, wants, appointments, etc. I have literally washed dishes, cooked meals, did laundry and went to my therapist once a week. That’s it. I do have a support system for keeping the lights on and some wonderful adulting teens in the house that gave me hugs and an ear when I needed it. But working on the shock and allowing the death of my old life was important. Now, I might be ready to play around with what a new life might look like. I started going to a club, group like AA, but for people trying to pick up the pieces of their lives after loss. GriefShare. They have become a good place to dwell in nonjudging, fellow grievers. We are doing something as a group that gives space for when I feel anxiety about coming. When the videos trigger me to bawl like a baby, they hand you a tissue and offer a hug if you want. Several having been coming for a few years and each go-round they learn a new skill, jump another hurdle. Together we will trudge thru the mud of doubt and self-discovery. I need clarity. But that will only come with play, faith, hope and love for the process. Sheila gave that to me. She showed me what it looks like to rise above the ugliness of addiction, abuse, shame, and judgement. I grieve her death; I grieve the life that is no more in both of us. But because of the life that is now dead, I can be born again to a new and more complex life. I will not for her, but for what I become because of her.
Blessings my friend, I do not have an email subscription, but I do have an Instagram account of the same name. If you want to follow me here on Medium, I would be thankful. Laura Jeanne
