Butterflies are everywhere at the hospice care center where my mother died. They adorn the walls in hanging sculpture, and are tucked away in planters and wind chimes throughout the gardens surrounding the building. According to hospice literature, butterflies symbolize the transformation from one life to the next.
The Upswing
Do you know the feeling you get when you’ve been sick with the flu, achy and shivering with fever, and then, miraculously, the fever “breaks,” and your chills turn to a warm, sweaty flush?
You open your eyes and see clearly for the first time in days. You can take a deep breath without collapsing into a barrage of coughing. You crave cinnamon toast or hot chicken soup. You want a hot shower and some clean clothes.
That’s how I feel today. After the past week of suffering (“I am not mourning, I am suffering,” wrote French philosopher Roland Barthe about his mother’s death), today I am peaceful, even a little bit hopeful that life may one day resume it’s luster. I’m getting familiar with the drill, this wild ride of grief. Today is a good day.
Perhaps it was the catharsis of writing yesterday’s post.
Maybe it was planting flowers last night, the physical exertion of digging holes and placing the tiny plants into the ground, settling them into the soil and cupping it firmly around them.
It could simply be the healing warmth of summer sun, or the vastness of blue sky that today looks promising instead of punishing.
Whatever the reason, I accept today's gift of equilibrium with gratitude.
Like the Sky
Sometimes I hesitate to write about Grief, about the way my life is these days. I don’t want to constantly put my sadness into a world that already has plenty of sadness. Still, Grief is the vein that runs through everything I am and do right now. There is no getting around it, there is only getting through it. This is what takes all my energy.
Accommodating Grief
Today marks 40 days after my mother’s death, days I’ve spent riding the roller coaster of emotions that come with loss and change. The roller coaster metaphor is often used in discussion of grief, and I’ve come to realize how apt it really is. There are days when I’m perfectly fine, even happy, able to complete my activities with normal energy and enthusiasm. Other days are like slogging through deep mud, when everything makes me cry and I want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
Thing is, I never know what kind of day it’s going to be. It IS like riding a roller coaster - but with your eyes closed so you can’t see what’s coming.
100 Days of Grace
I’ve had 30 days of grief, and while I know I’m not nearly done with it, there are now fleeting moments of something approaching happy, something I can only call Grace.
Sometimes it sneaks up on me when I’m watching a TV show and I burst out laughing.
Other times it arrives like an old friend when I cuddle with one of the pups, or my husband reaches out and touches my hand.
Often I don’t realize it until it’s done, like the satisfaction I feel after a weekend of concerts with my bell group.