A River of Grief
25 years ago, the day after Christmas, I was checking into an in patient program at Western Anaheim Medical Center. I was suffering majorly from depression and anxiety, still processing the trauma of the death of my father one year prior, severely over medicated on antidepressants, and unable to quiet my mind enough to sleep. I think I probably hadn’t really gotten a full night’s sleep in a month at that point. In that time I’d also dropped 25 pounds.
I stayed at the hospital for only a week, mostly in quiet reflection, but I did meet a few colorful characters and have a couple of meaningful conversations. There was only one other person on the ward who had checked themselves in; everyone else had been committed. I remember watching the NYE fireworks over Disneyland out the window while I could hear new patients just in that night wailing in their rooms as the heroine metabolized out of their systems.
On that night, as on last night, I was mostly alone in my thoughts. It’s a difficult time of the year for all the things I have been through, and the life that just keeps on coming. Doesn’t it though? I mean it never stops. Until it does. In addition to the great Betty White, I also lost someone very near and dear to me yesterday - a beloved friend and spiritual mentor I’ve known and loved for 24 years. And it’s the anniversary of another loss still fresh in my heart - my grandmother Arlene who passed on NYE in 2017. Death - this time of year is a time of such death. And that’s just a part of life.
Grief is weird - we say it comes in stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. What do we do in this time of stillness, the grieving and mourning of our hearts echoing the ache of the land as She softly cries for Spring to return? What can we do but stand in the river of life and be in the flow? I don’t know. It seems like sometimes our grief is the only companion we have as we brace ourselves for the cold, harsh current that endlessly comes. Sometimes it feels like we spend our lives swimming up that river like Salmon. And we know what happens to the Salmon in the end. It’s not all lost though. There are things that help:
Be with your feelings - the instinct when we are feeling bad is to push our bad feelings down or aside, but we can only dam up the flow of emotion temporarily. Later on when it breaks through it will be even more devastating. You can do this by spending time remembering your loved one, looking at pictures, sharing stories, and celebrating their life.
Be with others - we might want to curl up into a ball and be alone. Being alone makes us more susceptible to depression, and unhealthy coping mechanisms such as substance abuse. Validation is important. Reflection of our feelings back to us is important, especially when we’re trying to learn to live in a world without our recently departed beloved.
Be loving to yourself. Do the things that you know will make you feel better - bathe, hydrate, moisturize, go for a walk, have a nap, eat food that tastes good but also makes you feel good, watch comforting shows, read comforting books, wear soft clothes and bundle up.
And if needed seek out help from a trusted counselor or advisor. We may be alone in our perspective and experience, but we are not alone in this life. And we don't get through things on our own. ‘On our own’ in this world is an illusion. Every breath we take is the exhalation of millions of others.
If you’re feeling the bitter cold of loss or loneliness this season, I see you. The holidays are hard. The roots of holiday memories spread so rampantly throughout our brains that they can churn up unresolved trauma no matter how old. I know what it’s like and I relive it a little bit each year. Be gentle with yourselves dear ones. You’ve survived much to be here and you are so worthy of love and grace.
💖
