There is something interesting about doing these prompts out of numerical order–due to my work schedule, the kids’s schedule and everything else going on, I have had to do these in a different order. And I know that this particular day’s prompt had a piece to listen to, and for some reason (anxiety, my brain being an asshole, etc.), I just drug my feet on this one.
And the part from The Grief Experiment audiobook probably wouldn’t have been as helpful then as it is now. I’ve experienced a softening, a loosening of grief; I feel like I have less of a white knuckled grip on it than I did 30 days ago. Is this because time passed and it would have naturally happened?
Possible, but I think that this course has helped me with that.
Because grief is everywhere, and it always will be, for the hundreds of griefs that live within me, and I can’t have a white knuckle, sobbing on the floor reaction to each one of them every moment of the rest of my life. There’s nothing wrong with that initial reaction; I hope that doesn’t sound like I’m saying that. Emotions and reactions are just what they are, and there is nothing wrong with what they are. I just can’t physically or mentally continue to exist this way.
I took a walk on what was probably the last nice 70 degree day of the year. I went to my kids’ elementary school and did two laps around the building before I got the kids their drinks and my crocheting and sat on my usual bench on the playground and waited for my kids to be dismissed and the other moms (including our friend, Ken) came along. And while I was taking that walk, I noticed Sarah’s tree had been planted.
I was not unaware of this; Tabitha told me that the tree was planted on the big kids’ playground and that they were told to not touch the notes written on it. I am going to have to investigate the notes one of these days before the elements get too far into them, and take pictures for myself. I also thought as I made the second round that I should decorate it for Christmas. So I was prepared for this.
What I was not prepared for was seeing the expanse that grief had made in my life. That there were literally missing spots where the living once stood; and some of those missing spots were occupied by people who still live but I wish I had never laid eyes on; some of my grief subjects still live and in at least one case, that’s unfortunate. But that’s for another day (maybe).
In art, there is this idea of negative space, which is the space between the subject(s) in the image (thanks wikipedia for the refresher). In grief, there is also a negative space. And this is not negative as in bad. It’s just a descriptor of the space–it’s the space that’s unoccupied by the subject(s) in the picture.
I have experienced this negative space in grief. I tried to hold on tight to it, for fear that I might drop off the planet, or lose my memories of my friend. But once I got to a certain point and love relaxed my grief, I didn’t have to worry I would drop off the planet or lose the memories of my friend. They are still here, and I am still on the planet.
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