The Messy Business of Being Human
When I was eleven, Dan’s mom died. Dan was my best friend and possibly a boyfriend so it was important for me to figure out how to support him. I turned to my most trusted resource - the library - where I discovered Kubler-Ross and read up on the five stages of grief.
But in real life, it wasn’t quite so clear. Sometimes Dan wanted to talk, sometimes he wanted to sit together quietly, sometimes he was happy for a laugh.
Almost fifty years later, I have my own array of loss and its aftermaths. Friendships, relationships, yearnings postponed or deferred. It turns out that in a life with so much to live for there is also so much to lose. Grief, it seems, is the accompaniment to a life well lived.
Like being in love, being in grief is blurry, with waves of emotions overtaking reasoning in a way that feels bottomless. Unlike love, there isn’t a dopamine high that makes it worthwhile.
Love feels buoyant and light (“You’re glowing!”) while grief feels dark and heavy (“Are you okay?”).
And yet, grief brings its own container. A place to mourn what once was and honor that which is no longer. A place that carries the yearnings, desires, regrets, and loss of what might have been and won’t be.
In my work, I have found a reliable framework that sustains me - clarity, containers, consistency. Grief follows none of these guidelines. It blurs all lines, leaks out as it wishes, and shows up on schedule with the consistency of a sleeping infant - crying out when it wants with blatant disregard for keeping it together on the subway or in the supermarket.
You can only grieve what was lost. The friendship that has reached its course, the dream that will no longer be achieved, the person who left an indelible mark on your being.
Grief belongs to those still alive. Being in life. And in that, being in loss. And in most cases, carrying both at the same time.
Frameworks and blurred edges. Certainty and no frickin clue. Consistency and no, not today.
To love and to hurt. Rinse and repeat. That is our (messy) business as humans.
I wish you more love than loss, but more so, I wish you the strength to stay open to both.
And send you lots of hugs for either.
Big ones,
Karen