reaching for gratitude
It's a good thing that I have commitments for places to be today. Last night I got some devastating news about a dear, dear friend, and it would be all too easy to spend the entire day hiding at home, alternately wallowing in and avoiding my grief and shock.
I really am grateful that my life doesn't allow me to hide today. It feels reassuringly normal to have had my shower, dressed in clean jeans, made and eaten my standard 'healthy' breakfast (despite a complete lack of appetite), and be on my way out the door. Life does go on, all praise to Life itself.
When I was younger, a small book called "How to Survive the Loss of a Love" went the rounds and was one of my recommended staples in moments like this. I have no idea where my last copy is or how long ago it left my shelves, but one remembered passage keeps running through my head. This is my best attempt to paraphrase that passage years after I last read it:
"When we receive bad news, it often happens that a large chunk of grief comes from the sky and hits us on the head. This is a blessing, as the blow stuns and numbs us for long enough to get through the worst of the pain."
I loved the book then because its platitudes felt true and right to a young and sheltered woman who had never lost anything or anyone terribly important. Now, although I am indeed feeling stunned and somewhat numb, I have no idea if this is true. I have a sneaking suspicion that the pain is waiting patiently behind the wall of shock, waiting its turn to sneak up on me repeatedly over the coming months and years.
I really am grateful that my life doesn't allow me to hide today. It feels reassuringly normal to have had my shower, dressed in clean jeans, made and eaten my standard 'healthy' breakfast (despite a complete lack of appetite), and be on my way out the door. Life does go on, all praise to Life itself.
When I was younger, a small book called "How to Survive the Loss of a Love" went the rounds and was one of my recommended staples in moments like this. I have no idea where my last copy is or how long ago it left my shelves, but one remembered passage keeps running through my head. This is my best attempt to paraphrase that passage years after I last read it:
"When we receive bad news, it often happens that a large chunk of grief comes from the sky and hits us on the head. This is a blessing, as the blow stuns and numbs us for long enough to get through the worst of the pain."
I loved the book then because its platitudes felt true and right to a young and sheltered woman who had never lost anything or anyone terribly important. Now, although I am indeed feeling stunned and somewhat numb, I have no idea if this is true. I have a sneaking suspicion that the pain is waiting patiently behind the wall of shock, waiting its turn to sneak up on me repeatedly over the coming months and years.