Life lesson: Our Grief River makes its own path.
Grief is like a river. The head water, the origin, may be a spring or snow runoff. The origin of our headwater is the heart and from it springs torrents of tears and water. The grief water comes rushing out, obliterating everything in its path. It tears up boulders, rips trees from the roots and undermines houses that collapse and are carried away. It sweeps people away that may misadventure into it.
The river gorge widens out. The river can expand and its violence can relax. It runs slowly and peacefully until the banks close in again. It picks up speed then and, once again, becomes treacherous.
It runs up against a boulder. It smashes it, divides around it and rushes on its way.
The path comes to a bend in the terrain. The river scoops out a deep hole, creates an undercurrent around it and will not be deterred.
Our loss creates this river. From the depths of our love comes this raging torrent. It will not be deterred one way or another. Sometimes, our grief smoothes out. It is still there, but not running our lives. Then, and unexpectedly, there’s a boulder or a bend in our terrain, and it emerges in a torrent and undermines us.
The grief river carries our own debris. Floating and bobbing along are our memories. Some surface, some get pushed up against boulders and unmovable objects. They won’t let us rest. Some are so wonderful, we want to float along with them.
The grief river can cause damage. Some of the damage is repairable and some is not. Those around us, who don’t understand, want us to be over it. They want us to be like we were before we were grief stricken. But now, we are forever changed, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. They throw out platitudes. “She was wonderful, but now it’s time to get on with your life.” “She was so ill, it is a blessing she is gone.” And on and on and on. We have to net them away.
The river at times can be so violent, we want to curtail it. We may want to try to build a dam to hold it back. We may try to skim over its surface, to anesthetize ourselves to its cold. Some may want to put on a life jacket so we can survive or hang onto someone so they can carry us.
Just keep in mind that some of the controlling maneuvers can be dangerous.
A river damned is constantly looking for an escape. Pressure builds at the damsite. The water wants to break through. It wants to flow around it. It will flow over it, if given a chance. It will punch little holes in it, which can expand and expand again.
If our river is damned, it may look contained. Instead, it is laying there festering. Guilt and remorse and unfinished business flourish. These are pathogens that may emerge as illness in our bodies. These may present as mental issues, such as being stuck in grief and depression. They may also present in physical conditions, such as psoriasis, eating disorders or high blood pressure.
Grieving is hard, it is painful. We want to not have it. We have avenues of escape. We may grab a proverbial lifeboat, such as shopping for distraction, engaging in meaningless frenzied sex, overeating or overdrinking. The boat may provide a temporary refuse, but the underlying grief remains.
This grief, the loss of my wife and the ensuing grief, has engulfed me. I have tried to follow the expert guidelines. Experts say to experience it, it will diminish, and then you will heal. There is no timeline. Grief has its own time and space.
I just wish Patsy Cline hadn’t floated by this peaceful morning singing “Sweet Dreams.”
Let me know how you are doing. I don’t want you to sink. I care.
Sincerely,
Lynn Brooke
© 2023 Our New Chances
Photo Credit: © 2023 Rachel Gareau
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