 Three years ago, I dreamed of this day. I somehow knew, even in those first few days, that things would be okay. But I didn’t want to live through the beginning. It felt like purgatory.
I was desperate to get to the other side. To have permission to start over. To fall in love. To be happy. To laugh unapologetically. To bury the widow. But grief is not a mountain. There is no summit, and there is no other side. Grief cannot be conquered, or left behind. Nor can the people that you loved. There is no starting over, because you are forever changed. You cannot go back to the person you were. And the person you become through grief is an ever-evolving wonder. It’s challenging for us to accept that there are races we cannot finish. Our minds want to untangle the past from the present, the sadness from the hope, the gratitude from the regret. We want to move past that which did not fulfill our dreams and expectations, or find resolution in death as the inevitable ending that we must embrace. Moving on is the mantra. But as the years change, and we along with them, so too does our relationship to the grief, and to our loved one cemented in time. Moving on deems impossible, for we take all of it with us. Every day, every year, a new experience of the past; a new understanding of the present. Three years ago, I dreamed of this day. And if you’d told me there was no other side, I’d have been crushed. But maybe you could have told me this, too: You are on the other side. Because the minute George crossed over, so did I. There the journey began, and so it continues, evolving and informing my life with infinite teachings. The last three years have not been easy, but they have been important. Like the butterfly’s struggle to emerge from the cocoon (without the struggle, it cannot survive) -- grief sits at the cornerstone of my human experience, challenging me to become a better version of who I thought I wanted to be. With love and peace in my heart, I step into this new year. A new season of evolution and wonder, with my beautiful and precious grief. |
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