slow down . . . pay attention . . . don't give up

Such simple instructions . . .

and how clearly they describe the challenge of facing deep loss. 

Honestly, instructions about how to do that need to be simple, because the heart that is bereft cannot take in much more than the pain it feels.  

I remember thinking that I really didn’t know if I could live through it.  I was literally brought to my knees and didn’t know how to even go about my days.  The life altering tragedy of such a loss is a totally unacceptable turn of events and leaves no choice but to stare at the complete rearranging of life and let it do its work.    

I literally lost who I was.  I no longer felt strong or capable.  Always having seen myself as the “one who helps”, suddenly I was the one who needed help . . . and a lot of it.  I needed patience, encouragement, and guidance.  I needed loving friends and family who could tolerate the sorrow that dripped from my face.  And blessedly I had that.    

Still, I knew I needed some very specific and simple guidelines to follow if I was to do more than  survive.  So, I slowed down, tried to pay close attention and kept trying.  Here are some of the things I’ve learned along the way:

          I learned to be careful with what I expected of myself.  I was emotionally exhausted most of the time and so had to deliberately choose my activities and exposure to people.  Too much of either and I could implode.  Mostly I just tried to breathe and be kind to myself.     

          I learned that, for me, the only way through this was to keep trying to see each truth that I had to face.  I had to allow myself to become this new person, a bereaved parent.  I had to let go of my idea of how my life was to unfold.

          And the hardest thing I had to learn was to let go of Matt the way I had known him . . . .his physical presence, his smile, his touch, his stories, his dreams, his things. . . . and allow him to be with me in a new way.  I had to learn to be patient with the time it would take for me to learn this part.    

          So, up to now,  (and the learning goes on) I have learned that unfathomable things can happen – pain can strike a heart and rip it to shreds. . . . . and it can mend . . . amazingly, it can mend. 

For me now, peaceful contentment comes when I can be fully in each moment noticing the beauty that is always waiting to surprise me, taking time to sit quietly each morning (usually outdoors) and remember these lessons so that  the pace of the world doesn’t take my energy or dictate my priorities. 

And when I do that, I see all that I still have that is wonderful.

I know that I haven’t lost Matt.   

Yes, being with him is different, but he is so close now, so close. 

It is good.