Grief: let it destroy you
Finding peace by refusing to deny pain.
Two years ago my boyfriend took his life. The first few months were filled with sorrow and despair. I walked blindly through grief, reaching for every bit of advice I could find, seeking all the comfort I could get. About three months after, circumstance led me to live by myself for the first time in my life and to rid myself of a fling I started as a band-aid for my pain. Although I didn’t realize it then, being forced to feel every single morsel of agony eventually led to healing. I was forced to face my giant, it was made up of all the loss, anger, confusion, and madness that I felt. I desperately pushed, kicked, and screamed at it. And without knowing, by doing so, I found myself on the other side. I had painfully fought through sorrow, and because of that I could walk to peace and light.
What I know now is that it is ok for grief to destroy you. Let it shatter you. Acknowledge your tired and ragged soul. But keep walking. Walk toward peace. Walk toward light. It’s a constant process, it does gets easier but it doesn’t stop. The mountains of grief will come suddenly and won’t be kind enough to give notice, but the valleys of light will always be on the other side.
Below are some of my mountains and valleys from the past two years. I was shattered, I may yet be shattered again, but I fought and will fight, and I will walk toward light.
I am hopeful you will too.
November 29, 2014
“I’m thankful for the simple nights like these. The quiet nights when I would see a smile on his face, feel his mind at ease, love him, and feel loved. It’s those nights that create the bond and establish a world only you and that person share. I see that now.
Some days are harder than others but I hold on to the love shared. Love given can never be regretted, forsaken or forgotten. That’s inherently against what love is. But love is transforming, regenerating. After life leaves the body you can feel it around, morphing into its new state. The first few weeks after, oddly enough, it was this changing love that carried me through. I must’ve looked like a crazy person but as I went back to work, I would close my eyes and whisper ‘I love you.’ Coping mechanism or what have you, it helped. This love carried me from one minute to the next, hour through hour, day to night. But the love was undeniably different.
Its transformation is overwhelming and painful. It feels like an unceasing current; it constantly ebbs and flows. It’s a quiet brook one hour, a thundering waterfall the next. It’s present and alive, only now instead of having a voice it’s a force within you and around. You hear in the wind chimes, feel it in the breeze. As you come around places visited you see yourself as if in a movie- both laughing in that corner, arguing in that booth, quietly reading the paper on that bench. Even the tough times are remembered with a smile. It may be a teary smile but a smile nonetheless. It’s slightly delusional but that’s ok. It’s one of the easier things to accept: much of this won’t make sense and that’s perfectly alright.
Through it all I carry echoes of him. Silly, sad, funny, mad, all of the sensations and emotions you can think of. But I focus on these experiences. Quiet, simple, real. The love may be different but it’s here, it’s bright, and I can feel it.”
May 14, 2015
“It’s like a gong. Thunderous torment. Fast, painful violence resonating all around. Everything’s moving or being moved. You close your eyes because it’s too much. You open them because you cannot take the loud reality of horror. It’s like a gong, trapping you in despair. Thunderous torment. Fast, painful violence resonating all around. Assaulting you with its brutal reality. It yells at you, slaps your face, you’re whipped and tortured by sounds and screams of anguish. You feel it all the time. And it’s excruciating. Make it stop. But don’t.
Over the days and weeks the resonating pain becomes a guiding rope. I have no sight. Completely surrounded by darkness and brush. As I trudge forward, my arms and ankles and feet become bloodied and leave a faint echo of pain in the emptiness of sorrow. I keep moving, hands following the roughness, fingertips and palms raw from the accumulation of splinters. But I hold tightly. This is guiding me somewhere. I’m moving, am I not? Perhaps I’m going further into the sludge. Perhaps I’ll find the light. I become desperate. I scream at the nothingness before me. I move faster, I force my body forward. Angry, bloody, and exhausted. Everything becomes louder, everything crashes against me. Unceasing violence.
And then suddenly, there will be quietness. Ears ringing from the deafening lack of sound. I’ll come to a clearing. Suddenly sight returns. I’ll squint at the brightness, my eyes no longer used to sunlight. I’ll look around me and feel anger when there’s no rope to be found. I will see, I’ll feel the light, yet I won’t know where to go. I’ll mourn mourning. I’ll feel detached, horrified by this new phase of grief. It won’t be as satisfying as imagined, it’ll be progress conflicted.”
October 9, 2016
“I wish I could say it’s been two years and today I feel peace. But I don’t. Today I feel wrecked and destroyed. Grief doesn’t ask what you want, it grabs you and confronts you with the cold reality. And you crumble, and you ask for help, and you tell yourself that he’s at peace now, but you’re still tormented by the truth. By the savage cruelty of an unexpected death.
Tomorrow I will be ok. Tomorrow will be bright. But today I wish he was here.”
