October 2, 2016

Three months gone.

My lover died three months ago today, and it feels like an eternity, and it feels like yesterday. 

My focus now is to let go of my guilt from having more sunny days than rainy ones. I can hear your voices now, telling me, “Oh no, Absinthia, you mustn’t feel guilty for moving on!” I disagree in two ways. 

First, I’m not sure what moving on really means, but I’m pretty sure you don’t do it when someone you love dies. Be it your lover, child, parent, friend, sibling…you never move on. Whether you intentionally process your grief or you stuff it, you carry that person with you in your heart and your memories. You still love, and you still live, and you don’t let go, but rather you hold on to your lossed love and take the lessons learned with and from them into the rest of your days. I feel like moving on is too Sunshine of the Eternal Mind. This can’t be erased. 

I’ve always taken issue with any sentence that begins, “you mustn’t feel.” Oh hell yes, I’m feeling! I’m feeling all the things, sometimes all at once and sometimes one at a time. It’s uncomfortable and hard and enlightening and amazing. One of those feelings is guilt. 

Being human means seeking healing, wanting what will feel good, finding ease. He’d want me to heal and be happy. I want that, too. I’m interested in work again, I’m positively parenting my girls again, I’m nervous and excited about starting school. While the first two months of desperate grief, of not being able to get dressed, of anxiety meds and sleeping pills, made me feel horrible, this last month – since Burning Man and the start of my first ever SSRI – the feeling has moved from horrible to grounded. I’m hopeful for my future. I’m smiling and joining the world outside of my home. And feeling guilty about it. 

My guilt is an important piece of my healing process. Just like anger can have an important positive place, so too can guilt. Anger makes change. Anger gets shit done. Guilt shows me my progress. Guilt reminds me of how I felt before, and how I am feeling now. Guilt shows me the rewards of everything I’m doing to heal and to live my life and to accomplish my goals. 

I acknowledge my guilt as I grieve. I thank my guilt. I welcome it when it is needed, and I release it when I am able. 

1 thought on “October 2, 2016”

  1. I have a friend who used to do grief counseling with children. She shared with me that this little girl she used to work with explained that grief was like a cup full of tears. When you cry, your tears make the cup overflow. You cry so much in the beginning that the cup ALWAYS overflows, all the damn time. But as time goes on the cup isn’t as full because each time it overflows, a bit more goes out. Eventually the cup is less full and the tears fill it up less,so your grief doesn’t overflow as much. This is the process of moving through your grief, and why the stretches between hard days gets better and longer. But then she went on to share that there is ALWAYS tears in the cup, and it will always overflow at some point, which is why grief never goes away. When I asked my friend how old this child was, she told me “oh I think she was 7 or 8”. Reading your post made me think of this child. As I was sharing with my elementary kids this last week (we are knee deep in lessons about feelings), we can’t control feelings but they help us in our lives as we deal with situations. I so appreciate your honesty in your grief, our culture I believe does not give us enough space or time to walk through it, and your courageous writing will support others as they face the death of a loved one. Hugs from the PNW.

    Like

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