It comes down and grabs you, its hands around your neck, shaking you, turning you upside down, spinning you around in circles until you’re dizzy and unable to find firm footing.
It scrambles your brain. One day you feel clear-headed, then the next day you’re confused. You can go from confident to unsure in 60 seconds. Grief makes you cry, then it makes you laugh, dragging you along a very narrow ledge of separation between joy and despair.
It screws up seconds, minutes and hours, morphing time into something unrecognizable.
Grief makes you do squirrely things right off the bat. Eddie died a couple hours after midnight, and I kept my 10 AM haircut appointment. When I told the stylist my husband had died, she asked when, and I said a few hours ago. She almost dropped her scissors and didn’t really know what to say. Who could blame her?
Grief turns you inside out. You don’t even recognize yourself sometimes.
Grief can make you decide quickly even if you used to take a lot of time. Or it can make it impossible to decide at all. What made me feel the need to immediately sell Eddie’s car? Why did I decide, within weeks of Eddie’s death, to purchase a turntable instead of listening to music on Spotify like we used to? (I didn’t even know I wanted a turntable.)
I couldn’t decide what to do with Eddie’s shoes. All I could do was leave them by the front door.
Grief makes things that used to be dark lighter, and things that were light much darker. You can go from hating something to loving it and vice versa. You can go from seeing something to not seeing it at all. Or understanding someone and then being completely befuddled by them.
You might have been a deep thinker, but grief can rob you of the ability to concentrate on anything at all. You might have been a planner but suddenly plans don’t seem to make sense anymore.
Grief is good at removing any sense of the future. It can make you feel stuck in a minute for hours or in a day for weeks.
Grief fogs up any sense of purpose. One morning you get up feeling excited to do something, and the next day all you can do is pull the covers over your head and stay under them for hours.
It can erase any order you may have had in your life. The days don’t even seem to progress in any particular sequence.
People kind of swim just above or below you, never quite aligned with you. Sometimes they don’t seem to hear or see you. Or you them. The water is murky.
Grief shoves a big wedge between you and others… those who continue to go about their daily business. Like going for walks or to the movies or on a trip or out to dinner. Grief makes you wonder how or why they continue to do these things.
My group grief counselor said grief can make people rearrange their address book. It’s true that while most people do the best they can, some people you thought would lift you up actually let you down and those you didn’t expect to show up surprise you.
Grief can muffle sounds. You may not hear things clearly and think you did, which can result in going down a path that’s unfamiliar and you end up getting lost. Or at the very least disoriented.
I’ve been getting acquainted with grief for just over six months now. It moved in and made itself at home before I knew what hit me. Sometimes it sits in the corner of the room and stares me down. Sometimes it courses through my body. Other times it hides just beneath the surface and jumps out to scare me when I least expect it. Often it trips me when I think I can finally walk some distance. Grief is aggressive, hurling things at me when I am unable to shield myself. It is impolite, appearing at times that are wholly inappropriate.
But I’ve been lucky. I have good pals who do regular “buddy checks” (that’s what my friend Lynne calls them). I have a grief support group and a great therapist. I have family members who are unwavering in their presence, support and love. I have a dog who settles in my lap when I cry and licks my tears. I have a beautiful home, full of wonderful reminders of a life well lived with Eddie. I have thousands of pictures.
This week I’m heading to Italy for a month to wander, study photography with Douglas Beasley, explore, travel with my sister, travel alone, get a change of scenery and see what it’s like to be with my grief somewhere else. Yes, it will continue to be my companion, even far from home. But I’m hoping it will stay in the back seat a little more often while we’re away. In fact, while I know grief will always be part of me as I move forward, I’m slowly beginning to see that it doesn’t have to always be such a destructive, terrifying and all-encompassing force, that if I keep my heart open, trust that it will eventually get its hands off my neck and have faith in myself, it could someday become a comfort and a friend. After all, it contains Eddie. And I have no intention of ever parting ways with him.
I’ve also been lucky to have a desire to express myself creatively and a space to do so. My studio has become something of a sanctuary, and the process of making abstract paintings has been an amazingly cathartic way to navigate this journey.
Above:
Dance
Below:
Chaos
In a Storm
I’m Sorry
Hidden
Waves
Night Sky
Breathe
Triangle
Costa Rica
