PA R T T WO I N A S ER I E S O N G R I EF BY S H AU N A C A L DW EL L W I T H G . N EI L PA R K ER . I N T H E P R E V I O U S A R T I C L E , S H A U N A I N T R O D U C E D T H E H A R D W O R K O F C O P I N G W I T H L O S S E S A N D C H A N G E S . W E L O O K E D AT S E L F - C A R E F O R YO U R B O DY, M I N D A N D S P I R I T. I N T H I S A R T I C L E , S H E E X A M I N E S A C C E P T I N G LO S S E S A N D C H A N G E S I N O U R L I F E A N D U N D E R S TA N D I N G T H E F E E L I N G S A S S O C I AT E D W I T H T H I S P R O C E S S .
T
he unexpected, tragic deaths of our twin sons, Jordan and Evan, dropped me into a dark hole— which King David aptly named “the valley of the shadow of death.” It is a foreboding and unfamiliar place. It is inky black with a high ceiling that blocks out any light. I fumbled through my days in its shadow. The anvil that dropped on my chest each morning was my body’s reaction to the reality that I struggled to accept.
It’s OK that things are not OK.
In Jerry Sittser’s book, A Grief Disguised, he recounts the loss of his wife, mother, and four-year-old daughter in a car accident caused by a drunk driver. Sittser’s experience resonates with mine. He was acquainted with the terrible darkness. He describes a dream in which he found himself running frantically toward a setting sun, trying to hold onto its light and warmth, only to have the sun vanish over the horizon. He was left alone in the darkness. As he sat with his dream, Sittser decided to turn back and “walk into the darkness rather than try to outrun it.” He decided to “embrace [his] grief and to be transformed by [his] suffering” rather than to think he could dodge his sorrow. Walking into the darkness rather than attempting to escape it plunged me into a foreign, complex world of emotional pain. In your grief (remember: grief = losses + changes), you may have a sense that your emotional, as well as your physical self, is betraying you. This response is normal.
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M B H E R A L D.C O M
In the first year of my grief, I tried to express how I felt. It’s like struggling to get dressed in the dark. After much fumbling around, I realize that my sweater is inside out, and my head is through the armhole! Finally, once dressed, I am perplexed to discover that the sweater is too small and that it is 100% wool. My grief is so tight, itchy and uncomfortable. My grief is a bursting dam; my feelings sweep into every crevice of the void created by my loss. The feelings associated with grief are disorienting and distressing. When people say, “it’s going to be okay,” I scream, “it’s is not going to be okay!” Whether your challenges relate to bereavement, unemployment, strained relationships, physical or mental health, financial instability or lack of support, you may feel helpless, out of control, and afraid. Permit yourself to feel what you are feeling. It is important to sit with your grief. It’s okay that things are not OK, but if you are drowning, talk to your doctor and a grief counsellor. They can help.
