At least a few times a day I find myself teary-eyed, with a lump in my throat.
Mostly, this happens when I realize that something is missing - the sound of a tail wagging against the oven, paws clicking on the floor, or the deep sigh of release Checkers would make when he would curl up in a ball next to my legs.
Grief visits me frequently these days.
Grief has visited me frequently in my life - losses and endings and deaths and brokenness. And, as I’ve known for a long time, these experiences have a way to pile one upon the other over and over again. With each new loss, we are reminded of all of the losses we’ve ever experienced - some still raw and others scarred over, but all present in their own way.
Additionally, I find that my empathic tendencies add complexity to this experience. Because I tend to tune in to others’ emotions and experiences, I also tend to feel them deeply. This can be, in many ways, enlightening and in other ways overwhelming. I can feel simultaneously more connected to others and a distinct disconnect from their lived experience. I cannot possibly know exactly what is on their heart in that moment - I can only hold space for it and honor it.
Then, add to all of this the reality that we are experiencing collective grief and trauma these days.
All of us are trying to make it through yet another year of this pandemic.
All of us are balancing the demands of home, work, life, health, family, and so much more.
All of us are experiencing the daily shifts under our feet resulting from climate change.
All of us are feeling the brokenness of relationship that has stemmed from our separateness and tendency to move away from those who think differently from us.
All of us are tired, and worn out, and exhausted - in one way or another.
And so, I think it is important to name the grief that lives in our lives.
Many of us are grieving the moments we have missed over the past few years - weddings, graduations, birthday celebrations, memorials, visits - the list goes on.
Still others among us are grieving the relationships that have ended or shifted because of our necessity stay away.
And all of us are maneuvering through this new normal we are experiencing.
Even as a naturally social person, I am noticing a rise of anxiety when I am invited to be in community with other people. In moments when I would normally jump right in, I am instead dipping my toes in and feeling the anxiety and the grief that is joining me.
So, why am I writing about all of this today?
Because I want to make sure you know you are not alone.
I want to make sure we don’t jump in when what we want to do is step tenderly at our own pace.
I want to make sure we are all paying attention to the ways grief is showing up for us these days.
I want to make sure we are leaving space for it, and honoring it.
Grief is not the most comfortable experience - in fact it is painful and scary and sad. And, it is incredibly powerful and important.
Grief is the consequence of love - and a necessary one at that.
Grief is necessary.
Grief is hard.
Grief is a reminder that we are connected to one another and to something bigger and more vast than ourselves.
So, even though it is hard …
Even though the tears sting my eyes …
Even though I mourn the loss of what might have been …
I am choosing to open myself to the grief and the difficulty as it comes.
I am choosing to honor and hold it close.
I am choosing to keep going and keep showing up to and for it in the ways I am able.
I wonder what you are doing with your grief these days.
I wonder how you are making space for it, honoring it, or letting it be.
I wonder what parts are most difficult and how we might support one another on the journey.
My prayer for all of us is that we can honor the resilience of our spirits and the ways grief feeds our souls.
I want to offer a poem I wrote awhile back. It is a piece about resilience and the human spirit. I hope it speaks to you.
A Recipe of Resilience
This recipe has been tweaked over time, so adjust as necessary.
Sometimes it yields more servings than anticipated.
Sometimes it needs a bit more of this ingredient or that.
It comes from generations who have gone before me, and I've added my own flavor along the way.
One part courage
Two parts tears of failure and doubt
One part deep listening
One part each of both silence and laughter
A dash of trust
A pinch of wonder
A heaping scoop of naps and snacks
In a separate bowl, mix together family, friends, and those who challenge you to be your best self, those with whom you disagree.
Add slowly to the larger pot, add a bay leaf for … well, whatever it is bay leaves do, and let simmer for as long as you need (which is often longer than you realize or anticipate).
Keep the heat at an even temperature – hot enough to cook throughout, but not so hot it burns the bottom.
Can be served at room temperature, warm, or even cold if necessary.
Serve alongside your favorite soft blanket, dog, cat, or other soft item.
Make often,
Share with others,
Hold onto the leftovers – you’ll need them after a long day that challenges your soul.
This week’s Invitation to Deepening: How would you tweak this recipe for resilience? What might you add, change, or adjust? If you’re comfortable to do so, share with us below …
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