Grief

  The last couple of days have been spent outside playing in the dirt. The weather was perfect, the mosquitoes non-existent. A birdsong orchestra played as I heaved earth and rocks around to build the two small retaining walls on either side of the new shed. Now I can get the materials to finish it. Not today, though, my muscles, unused to such heavy slogging, need to rest and let the mental ones go to work.

  Today’s image represents grief. It’s a ball of yarn with a whole bunch of ends. Pulling one end unravels another. Pulling it unravels another one, too. There is so much interconnected grief with everything that is coming into the light it’s hard to know where to begin to unravel it all.

  It’s why the lady is dressed in ashes.

  Grief is not something experienced only because of the death of a loved one. Mourning, or grief, happens so often Jesus made it the second beatitude. I wish it was talked about more because any loss can cause grief. Trauma is full of loss. So is abuse. So is betrayal. So is neglect. So is truth.

  Yes, learning the truth can ignite a deep sense of loss.

  Bruxy’s dismissive confession is a huge thread. Waiting for the results of the investigation involving his behaviour with two more women is tough. Knowing where there’s smoke there’s fire only fuels the grief and sorrow. I hold a lot of anger towards him because he chose not to mention them first. But then, based on his confession, he really doesn’t understand the damage his actions caused.

   Or is it denial? Grief is also part of being reconciled with our own unhealthy choices especially when we realize how much harm we left in our wake. Maybe Bruxy isn’t ready to move on just yet; not ready to face the responsibility of his choices. (Thank You, Lord, for allowing me to find a glimmer of grace this morning.)

  There’s corporate grief tied up in the ball, too, for women who have experienced abuse and trauma, for Hagar, for other children who suffered as much as Cricket if not more.

  I think a ball of yarn with multiple ends is a good metaphor for grief itself. I don’t know how many times I’ve read the Five Stages of Grief, hoping when I’d reached acceptance it would be over with. Identifying grief as having stages is misleading. It implies a linear, set pattern to something that is completely un-linear!

  Tugging on the end of acceptance often unravels other emotions especially if acceptance for one thing is tied to other events God hasn’t finished healing yet.

  Being angry while learning not to hate is hard. The hate I sometimes feel ignites its own sorrow. It’s ugly.

  Hate suffocates.

  When yarn is wound too tightly into a ball and left for too long it loses its’ flexibility. It becomes like string, stretched and inflexible. The flexibility is needed for yarn to bind itself to the stitches that came before. Flexibility is needed to unite with the next stitches that will be connected to it.

  Hate is inflexible.

  I tried bargaining a couple of nights ago, telling God I was done. I let Him know I would be more than happy if He would bring me home rather than leaving me to feel all the layers of grief in my heart: for the past, the present and the future. The Black River ran swift and deep in the late hours of the day.

  If He had listened, I wouldn’t be sitting here, typing. The art journey that isn’t finished would be left incomplete. I wouldn’t have been able to look forward to today’s writing session and hearing what God has to say.

  I often think of Judas on days like this. How he hung himself for having betrayed Jesus to the cross. It’s so sad he never got to experience the forgiveness and grace of Christ.

  That’s the good thing about grief. It enables empathy and compassion to wrap their own yarn in the ball of sorrow and anger and depression.

  Poetry, art, and music are full of haunting expressions of mourning.

  Grief drove science to find a cure for polio.

  Grief over white history birthed the beginnings of reconciliation with our Aboriginal peoples.

  I never realized that the pain of grief is often the labour pains experienced before giving to birth something beautiful, wonderful and amazing.

  I just wish it didn’t take so long. I wish it wasn’t so hard to check off the five stages and have them done with, forever.

  I think I’ll knit a soft blanket with this tangled up ball of yarn because, Lord, I could use a bit of comfort.

  "Blessed are those..."