Grief Yoga
Lately, I’ve had trouble reaching down into the depths to bring through writing.
Usually it flows, but for whatever reason, the depths have been so liminal. So untouchable. It’s been pure feeling. The words haven’t been there.
There are some really ugly parts of grieving. Or perhaps it’s unique to grieving a child.
The profound sense of otherness. More fractured than before.
A sense of being set apart some days. Existing somewhere behind the front of my body.
Other days I am fine.
It’s almost manic.
Almost. But not quite.
Because underneath, my rudder is steady.
Perhaps steadier than I’ve ever been.
A “new normal”, whatever that means.
Something in and around the realm of integrating a whole new way of life. Life without Tanner here in the physical. Though he remains very present in other ways. It’s still a gigantic shift.
I was speaking with a girlfriend yesterday…
Relaying to her the oddness of being on the other side of our greatest fear. How I spent years seeing this eventuality. And bracing for it. While simultaneously doing everything possible to avoid it.
What a pose to hold.
Now that I’ve crossed the threshold I feel more fragile and open, while concurrently more robust and grounded.
The sense of existential dread that traveled with me from one crisis with Tanner to the next is starting to dissipate. I honestly hadn’t realized how present this was before he left.
I feel guilty. Guilty that I knew so much. And was powerless to stop it. Powerless to help him. It's so complex.
Finding out that love wasn’t enough, has grown me up.
We are so entrained to think that children just need endless love.
But… I don’t know how to finish this sentence just yet.
I’ve also noticed that I only have all of these complex “top thoughts” when I see what happened as “wrong”. To me, “Top thoughts” are thoughts that seem to generate on top of what is underneath. They are a cover for the deep well of longing in my heart. They seem to want to protect me from the pure pain, by having my mind spiral out. They are a signal to me that something needs to move.
Other days I am just in quiet acceptance. And the peace I feel also makes me feel guilty. How can I possibly hold this as ok? And yet…some days I do.
We also talked about how, when we track the timeline backwards, we can see all of these miraculous graces. Things the Universe, God, Spirit, put in place to help me meet this part of His story.
It’s incredible to see all the pieces. The places where creation is benevolent and ruthless at once.
I’m still here. Moving through the complexity of his loss. Meeting corners of Motherhood that I hope no one else ever meets.
Weaving in and out of reality, and taking breaks from over exposure.
It’s grief yoga.
