Three Sentences

I cannot imagine the pain my friends are experiencing. My heart is heavy for them. In the hope of helping even a little, I would like to share a few things I have learned about grief and fear from multiple perspectives among them as a mother of a recovering heroin addict, a person who went through multiple losses in a short period of time and a therapist.

First, the emotions. The pain of a heart feeling like it is literally on fire and the pressure of pain, a weight against your chest. Grief  hurts, physically hurts. Your body aches. Suffering with loss and sorrow are physically taxing. Mentally, it is easy to think the pain will go on forever.  Especially when it is sudden, I think it feels like the person was taken from you. Sometimes, the person was taken from you, violently, by addiction, by a sudden illness.

At these times in my life, I sometimes felt like a victim; why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong? These thoughts and feelings of despair are easy to find, especially as a parent. If each day is a new bad event, feeling like a victim is a normal feeling. I know feeling like a victim doesn't help but being hit again and again... For me, it sometimes gets worse at times like that.

I think the most intense grief and loss have forced me to confront my own mortality. I ask myself, can I live with this pain? and some days, I fear I can't. Those days are for what I call, my three sentences.

There are three sentences that have helped me live with fear and grief. The first one is Accept Suffering. It sounds so harsh but actually accepting you hurt a lot and you will hurt for a time, a long time, helps me. I guess for me, just accepting this is awful and hard is better for me than trying to make it better or cheer up. I'm not saying accept suffering because you deserve to suffer, not because you should suffer but accept suffering because we all choose to live, with our whole hearts. We actively love our family, our friends.

Most of the time loving the people I love makes my life very good. I don't say that meaning there is a cost or an larger explanation for bad times. That just makes me bitter. I say that as someone who tries to appreciate the good times. I have largely given up trying to have an explanation for bad events. Once in a while, "Why?" taps on the door trying to get in. But I talk sternly to it and send it away.

The second one is keep moving. Yes, its impossibly hard some days. But keep putting one foot in front of the other. Focus if you can on the moment, lift your head up and look around you. See and take in the smile on a child's face, a sunset, a sunrise on the lake, the smell of fresh sheets, the taste of chocolate. Be a pilgrim traveling across a new, gray landscape who stops to smell a flower.

The third is faith not fear. And I don't necessarily, mean faith in God. I mean faith that you will have good days again. Faith and certainty that there will be beautiful sunrises, sunsets, chocolate and clean sheets in your future. That you will go fishing again with your family and catch the biggest fish. That you will smile. That you will enjoy.

Powerful emotions like grief and fear are transformational. What comforts me is remembering something I learned while wandering deep in the sea of grief. It's about Raku pottery. Generally, the pot is fired at an incredibly high heat. After firing, the pottery is rapidly cooled. The Raku potter doesn't know what will happen to the pot through the process. They just let go. That's transformation. What will happen is unknown.

Unknown is something I work to accept. The randomness of loss and the suddenness of fearful events has taught me the future of my life is unknown. All I can do, especially some days, is eat a little chocolate. Look and really see the faces of the people I love. Enjoy a sunset. And do what makes me happy as often as I can. So there it is. Three sentences. Accept suffering. Keep moving. Faith not fear.

I give this to the people I care about in the hope it will help them, even a tiny bit. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
love,
Margot