Musings on Grief and Conversion, Part One

You don’t have to be on this board for very long before reading that the grieving process takes a very long time, that waves of grief will hit us again and again, that even many years down the road, the anniversary of our beloved’s death will have the power to knock the wind out of us. I am beginning to think that grief is actually a lifelong process.

We are at the midpoint of Great Lent, the time set aside for self-examination before God and repentance in preparation for the great feast of Pascha. This year I have been broken open and laid out utterly naked before God. Yet I have not found my way to "repentance." I cannot get through my grief to find that mindset in my heart or head..

But what is repentance? And how am I connecting it to grief? In the broadest possible terms repentance is turning away from that which separates us from God — or if you are not a religious person, turning away from that which prevents us from reaching our fullest human potential. It is turning away from a place of brokenness and death and turning toward restoration and life. Repentance is actually a lifelong conversion (which literally means “turning around”) process. It’s not something we do once and are done with forever. We must always be examining ourselves to reject the darkness within and embrace the eternal light.

And the work of grief is similar: I have been dragged down into the maws of death, brought face to face with the darkest enemy of the human heart. I must turn away from death — even though it is has seized my beloved — and turn toward life. I must turn away from the life I loved so profoundly and turn toward a new life. I must be willing to change from the woman I was to the woman God wants me to be now. And this is work, powerfully hard work, brutally painful work.

And I think that like the work of conversion, the work of grief may never be done. It may become easier, may become more integrated into my person, but it may, like conversion, be the work of a lifetime. The Greek word for repentance is metanoia, a word that implies a total transformation of one’s thinking and understanding. And surely this is what grief demands of me.

Where is he?

In response to a widow who wrote: I realized last night that everywhere I go I am looking for my husband. (he has been gone 16 mo) I think unconsciously I have been doing this since the accident, but just realized last night I cannot find him....NOWHERE is he to be found.

Oh yes!

I would wander the house after the kids were in bed. Aimlessly wander from one room to another. Sit on the sofa for a few minutes staring blankly at the tv. Get up and go toward the garage door. Go to the kitchen. Sit on the sofa. Get up and go upstairs. Sit on the sofa. Get up and look out the window.

It suddenly hit me that I was waiting for Nick to come home. Once I realized that was what I was doing, I didn't do it quite so much, but I still do. And I still ask (out loud), "Nick, where are you? Why don't you come back to me?"

My love has been taken away from me, and I don't know where to find him.

Only one true love?

I think we have to believe in the possibility of a new true love. I know that I will never love another man the way I loved Nick, that nobody will ever love me the way he did. But I may be beginning to be ready to think about believing that a new and different love just might be possible some day. (Did I put in enough distancing qualifiers?) A new love would be very different from the one between Nick and me, but that would not make it any less true.

Here's to believing in many possible futures!

Where is "There"?

In response to a post talking about "getting there"

This really is the hardest part... Trying to imagine what "there" looks like. As part of a couple, we had no problem imagining our future with our loves. And since we knew what we wanted our lives to look like, we could pretty well figure out what we needed to do to make that happen, to get "there."

But now --- what the h are we supposed to do? And I guess that's where faith comes in -- faith in God, faith in ourselves, faith in the universe, faith in the efficacy of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, whatever. Believing in an unimaginable future allows us to get there.

Enough rambling.

Wishing everyone a measure of faith in the journey.

On children and grief

Written to a widow in anguish over her children's pain

I found a 6-week bereavement group for my 6-year-old. Being there really helped him -- they gave him some tools for expressing his feelings. All the signs at school are fine -- doing well with work, engaged in activities, likes being with his buddies, no hostility, etc...

We all made it through the holidays okay (including two family birthdays), but then I crashed in the New Year. Shortly after I crashed, my son did as well. Things spiraled down for a few weeks, before I realized I had to take control. I went to a counselor who saw me the first week, and both me and my son the 2nd. The 3rd week, it was just me again, and she said my son was fine and didn't need to be there.

Why not? Because I was doing better, so he was too. Our kids are so tied into us, and they are terrific barometers of how we are doing. When I cry, my 2-year-old cries. When I'm happy, he's happy. It's just the way it is.

Right after my husband died, my brother-in-law talked to me. He grew up without a father, and he said, "When Mom was okay, I was okay. When Mom was not okay, I was not okay." I always keep that in the front of my mind -- it makes me take care of myself.

Just remember that what your kids need is the certainty your love -- and they surely have that!

Six Months

Well, today it really is 6 months. I never thought I'd make it this far -- not because I thought I would fall and fail, but because it all seems so impossible. How can he really be dead, this beautiful wonderful man I have loved so utterly?

It still seems unbelievable that he is gone. And I still don't know how I'm going to make it through this, but I guess it's enough just to know that I will.

Thank god that times like Sunday night don't come too often, and thank god for this place where people have felt the same things.

And I thank each of you for offering me your support and compassion. You know how much it means.

The 6-month crash

Okay, I'm posting in this section 2 days ahead of schedule. So shoot me. Please. Wouldn't you do that for an injured animal? Put it out of its misery?

I just spent 5 minutes (more? I don't know) circling a tight path on the floor, chewing on my hand, moaning and whimpering like a wounded beast.

I know it will get better. I know I won't always feel this way. But I need somebody to tell me how, how I'm going to get better, how I'm going to get through this.

Please.