A light dusting…

It’s been quieter around here. I’ve been going to yoga, working on my strength. Healing my body. Calming my mind. Trying to take it one day at a time, keeping anxiety at bay. Like the light dusting of snow just barely covering the sidewalk this morning, just barely covering the dangerous icy patches underneath, I am lightly treading the path of grief…for now.

This time of year is tough in the Midwest. Everyone else is posting pictures of spring, the catalogs show women wearing sandals…we’re getting a snow storm. The simple act of stepping out your front door is treacherous, there’s black ice on the sidewalks, you can’t decipher wet from slick. Most people don’t even walk their dogs. The worst part is that your body remains in a constant state of anticipation, hunched over from the cold, wound tight like a spring ready to absorb a fall. I haven’t been able to turn my head to the left for months. Though I am not sure who to blame, winter, grief, or my job.

Going through the (e)motions.

I just learned something this week. Something new about grief.

Yep, I’m still on the grief train over here…albeit in “panicked passenger” mode…desperately seeking the drink cart, woo-hoo!

And just to completely derail for a moment, I have been on many trains. We lived in Switzerland during my high school years, and my mom is from a picturesque little town in the alps, Wassen. Wassen is known for its beautiful church that sits out on the edge of a slope. It is also known for the train tunnels and tracks that wind up through the mountains, the Gotthard pass. From the town, if you look up the mountain, you will see the same train pass by 3 times. Each time a rung higher, and each time going in the opposite direction.

And then there was quiet.

I know what’s been going on this week. I have been here before. Raging and railing against grief. I recognize the fight. But this go around has been particularly brutal. I felt out of control, like it was controlling me.

Then, finally, as I was shoveling snow last night, crying, there came a quiet voice. Enough, little creature. Enough. Put down the shovel. Stop fighting.

Standing in the cold, surrounded by sparkling snow and a sparkling sky, it became clear. Grief is a gift. In the face of emptiness, the incomprehensible hole left by his death, grief gives me something to fight against. Denial, anger, frustration, pain. Fight it I will, many more times, I am sure. Every round, wildly throwing punches at the shadow of death, until I am tired out, cried out, knocked-out on the floor.

Happy F*ing Birthday

12/12/12.

The last triple date that we will experience in our lifetimes, a lovely trifecta of lucky numbers, a choice date for weddings, a golden birthday…mine. Thank god it’s over.

I’m not looking for anymore best wishes, I’m not asking for pity. I couldn’t even write on my birthday, or the day after, because I was so messed up. I just have to get this out to the universe…send my anger hurling, release the flying monkeys, spew out the poisonous agony so it doesn’t consume me.

Blog Challenge: Guilty

I don’t know how many times I have started a post about “spirituality”, faith and beliefs, and what it all means in light of the recent deaths I have been dealing with. It’s a stumbling block that I keep getting tangled up in. But the blogging world is full of engagement, inspiration, and truly good writing, and I like where it can take me: away. I follow SwiftExpression, a very thoughtful and engaging blogger, and she recently posed some challenges. The one about “guilt” seemed like a meaty one to sink my teeth into. I actually thought I could write and avoid the topic of death, but nope. It works its way in everywhere. So here goes.

Blog Challenge: Does the feeling of guilt serve a purpose? If so, what is it? If not, why not?