Emptying.
In about twenty minutes I'm going to meet my sister at my grandparents' house. The empty house. We're going through and divide up all the paintings done by my mother and my grandmother. We're going to take the photographs, the childhood artwork, all of that. I'll be photographing and measuring furniture, in case I want it. And it's going to be horrible, because Nanny and Kaw Kaw aren't there any more.
I'm not saying I'm in a bad place, or anything. I'm just saying there is no good place, no good time, to have to deal with this sort of thing: the dismantling of one's own past, the loss of one's own childhood, in addition to the loss of close family. There's no guidebook, no rules, no accepted procedure. If the terrain of Anger is familiar to all of us, a place we can go back to again and again, then the terrain of Grief is like a bog, ever-changing, never stable. It can't be mapped, it can't be charted, it can't be navigated via a shortcut. It can only be slogged through.
I don't know how or when it happened, but a door closed on my childhood, and going back into parts of it to poke at things is uncomfortable, scary, and weird.
I am about as strong as I could hope to be, and I'm damn sure tough enough to take it. I have plans drawn up, I'm not going into this flat-footed. I know this year is going to hurt like hell, but it's going to happen anyway so I might as well orchestrate things so that I enjoy the holidays as much as I possibly can despite all that. Celebrate what I can, and take the opportunity to mourn what I can't celebrate with as much joy around me as possible.
Grace does not come naturally to me, but I'm damn well trying to finish this year with as much grace as I know how.
It's frustrating. I know I can count on a slew of comments saying "You're so strong!" and "I admire your strength." I know I can count on support, sympathy, offers of light or hope or gifts or a simple namaste. And I love that. I love that you care, even though we barely know each other. I love feeling connected, feeling with you, even if it's only for a moment, a single spark.
But a part of me is frustrated by the fact that strength not a sure thing. I'm not as strong as everyone makes me out to be - nobody is. Others' confidence in me is no guarantee that I will succeed, or that things will come out okay.
I really want to close with something pithy and wise, but all I can say is that I know this is going to be hard, but I don't know how hard. And I just don't know how well I'm going to take it.
I'm not saying I'm in a bad place, or anything. I'm just saying there is no good place, no good time, to have to deal with this sort of thing: the dismantling of one's own past, the loss of one's own childhood, in addition to the loss of close family. There's no guidebook, no rules, no accepted procedure. If the terrain of Anger is familiar to all of us, a place we can go back to again and again, then the terrain of Grief is like a bog, ever-changing, never stable. It can't be mapped, it can't be charted, it can't be navigated via a shortcut. It can only be slogged through.
I don't know how or when it happened, but a door closed on my childhood, and going back into parts of it to poke at things is uncomfortable, scary, and weird.
I am about as strong as I could hope to be, and I'm damn sure tough enough to take it. I have plans drawn up, I'm not going into this flat-footed. I know this year is going to hurt like hell, but it's going to happen anyway so I might as well orchestrate things so that I enjoy the holidays as much as I possibly can despite all that. Celebrate what I can, and take the opportunity to mourn what I can't celebrate with as much joy around me as possible.
Grace does not come naturally to me, but I'm damn well trying to finish this year with as much grace as I know how.
It's frustrating. I know I can count on a slew of comments saying "You're so strong!" and "I admire your strength." I know I can count on support, sympathy, offers of light or hope or gifts or a simple namaste. And I love that. I love that you care, even though we barely know each other. I love feeling connected, feeling with you, even if it's only for a moment, a single spark.
But a part of me is frustrated by the fact that strength not a sure thing. I'm not as strong as everyone makes me out to be - nobody is. Others' confidence in me is no guarantee that I will succeed, or that things will come out okay.
I really want to close with something pithy and wise, but all I can say is that I know this is going to be hard, but I don't know how hard. And I just don't know how well I'm going to take it.