Tending to Sorrow

The world is so beautiful, and I am so sad. – Mark Nepo 

As much as we may want our grief to conform to an agenda or steps to follow, it is an energy all its own. It does not bend to our will. It is our yearning and our reach. It is our longing. At times, our praise. Grief can be wordless, and at the same time,  fill up volumes and pages and paint the sky. It asks us to assume new roles, to contend with disbelief and what we’ve always known to be true. I’ve encountered many who have felt that nothing ever written could capture the enormity of what they were holding. Nothing on earth to compare it to. At times, grief can feel colossal, a tidal. Time slows down, it speeds up, we fall out of it, we fall back in. 

The intellectual level of our knowing drives us to consider the question, “What do I do now?” “What am I meant to do with my grief?” Perhaps we are called to bring grief and death out of the shadows. Instead of having our grief be taken hostage by so-called timelines and stages and treating it as something to be fixed and overcome, we might choose to encounter grief as an essential experience of being alive. To treat grief as something sacred. Francis Weller, author and psychotherapist, reminds us that grief is always, in some way, accompanying us. He writes that to be human is to know loss in its many forms, but that this should not be held as a depressing, hopeless truth, but rather an acknowledgement that grace lies in sorrow and that “we are most alive at the threshold between loss and revelation.” Yet, many of us have not considered (or, perhaps, allowed or permitted) our relationship with grief and loss can be something tender, holy and something worth our action and appreciation. 

In our death-denying culture, grief often gets pushed to the margins of our experience, but it is always here. It is always with us. The consequences of marginalizing grief are vast. Many of us feel awash in isolation and aloneness. Many of us can recall the pinprick of resentment that the world continues onwards, while we feel left behind – scattered. Then there is the question many  of us have likely asked ourselves: “Is this normal? Is my response to this loss normal? Am I normal?” Let me be someone to tell you that yes, it is normal. It is expected  to feel everything. It is “ normal” not to feel, to stay busy, to not be able to move. It is expected to retreat inwards, to struggle to eat and drink water, to shower. It is expected to feel sensations and emotions in the body you never felt before. You are normal. You are normal. Your loss is significant and important and worth your time. 

Malidoma Patrice Somé., West African Elder, author and teacher has written extensively on the power of ritual and community, noting that many of us do not always allow ourselves to work through pain. They wrote, “More often than not, we think pain is a signal that we must stop, rather than its source.” Grief has always been communal, but not all of us experience it that way. Learning how to keep sorrow close to the heart and hold sorrow with others is a profound and essential practice. It was not that long ago that I attended a virtual grief vigil with others from around the country, in which we were invited to light candles before naming our losses – and having our words be witnessed and felt in the hearts of others. No comments, no questions – just tears, head nods, and a hand on the heart. There was another time just this past year when  I stood at the edge of a lake. I picked up a small rock, whispered my grief into the edges, and threw it into the water. As the ripples expanded, I offered my gratitude to the water and the trees that offered me shade. To the people who lived on this beautiful land. My grief remained, but I could now share it with the natural world. I felt the earth rise to greet me, and I did not feel alone. 

To all of those reading this, I invite you to consider what it might mean for you to let your grief accompany you. To consider what could shift inside and around you if grief could be a faithful companion for you. Reminding us that the “work” of grief is not only for us. We owe it to others, and we owe it to the earth. We are here – together. 

I do not want to repress a relationship with my grief. I want my door open to grief. I want my door open to the dead. I whisper to my beloveds, “I’m here.” 

Please consider signing up for Tending Sorrow, a 6-week virtual grief processing space, scheduled to start on Sunday, December 15th (alternative start date is Sunday, January 12th).