About Values

The most

creative

task

I have

ever

accomplished,

is

to find

new

meaning

&

value

out of

the

absurdity

of

her death.

 

 

 

An important aspect of the redoing of my reality has been the emergence and subsequent living of my values. A lot of that clarity came out of my struggle to be seen as “nice” and to be liked. It was important for me to understand why I couldn’t be like everyone else. The journey has been lonely enough, but I also felt the added burden of rejection. I was having a lot of trouble relating to most people. For a long time I assumed it was because of my grief. It was quite a surprise when I began to realize I didn’t like them any better than they liked me. It turned out to be a clash of values. Again and again, the push back to me was that I was too harsh, or too blunt. Perhaps that is true, but it does not explain all the disagreements. What it does explain was my insistence on continuing to grieve, even this long after Sharon’s funeral. The choice to grieve reflects my value of growth over comfort.

Thirty years seemed, at the time, like a momentous milestone. I have no idea how many times I have cycled through the grieving process. It is never a one-time deal. It is never neat and tidy, nor in any particular order. The only two stages that have any order are the first (shock and denial) and the last (acceptance). The rest are a continual swirl (anger, bargaining, and depression), and often are an unarticulated reaction that doesn’t make sense to others. For example, every time I hear the song “You Are My Sunshine,” I burst into tears and leave the room. That was a song I sang to Sharon often as she was growing up. My reaction makes no sense to anyone but me.

Never Enough

For those

of us

who are

bereaved,

&

insist

on

facing

our grief,

Life has

a

quality

the

protected

can never

know.

When you’ve lost a child there is no such thing as “enough”.

Not enough comfort

Not enough help

Not enough meds

Not enough answers

Not enough relief

Not enough recovery

Not enough peace

Not enough glue to put me back together again.

It’s like having an arm ripped out by the roots, all raw, jagged and bloody with unbearable pain.

And yet, and yet, over time like a balm applied to the wound the hemorrhaging stops, the jagged edges smooth some and the pain reduces to a manageable level.

This is accomplished by insisting on your grieving and never letting anyone tell you how or when to grieve.