I got married again this past weekend. It was twinkling lights and dancing by the creek, a magical page-turning to a new and joyful chapter. My soon-to-be husband lost his beautiful first wife to cancer, and I lost a beautiful child to the NICU. Together, we help each other carry love for what we've lost. Having seen this reflection on Facebook from Canadian legend and singer/songwriter Jann Arden, I am sharing it with you. It is why Glow exists. It is why we commune together, seeking new chapters. —Kate
Grief is a strange thing. It has an actual palpable weight that hangs around your heart and lungs. It makes breathing arduous and nearly impossible. At night that weight increases tenfold and pins you to your bed like an unwanted lover.
Losing people is what happens in human life, like a constant drip of an old tap.
When you don't argue with it like a drunk husband, much good can come from the stillness of grief. You can't be your best self when you're submerged in useless busy-ness.
Let fear and grief sit at your table and talk to them. Give them a cold drink and a sandwich. They simply want to be acknowledged, and not ignored. When you ignore them, they just hang around.
Mom told me a few months ago that there was an Indian man in her closet—he came and went for a few weeks and he had a baby with him. You can imagine my reaction. I wanted to say, "Mom, there is no Indian with a baby in your closet." Instead, I asked her what he wanted. She told me he said he wanted to go home.
"What did you say?"
"I told him it was that way..."
"And then what?"
"Off he went. He hasn't been back since."
Feel things. Don't be afraid to feel things. That is the whole entire point of all of this.
Have you learned yet to give fear and grief a cold drink and a sandwich? Do you sit with them, acknowledge them? What unexpected things has your experience of loss taught you—about your feelings, your recovery, the ghosts in your closet, and the entire point of all this?