Sunny, hazy, the rain had let up a bit, and the sunshine spilled through the window bright and strong. Love it. Really. It was a cheery sight.
Got to attend a different kind of meeting the other night, with folks who are grieving losses of one kind or another, mostly people close to them. Some losses were a few years ago, and some were only weeks old. It was sobering to realize, once again, how fragile and precious our time here is.
In attending, I am attempting to begin the process of grieving for my mother, now that I have done the work of wading through my resentment of her and of our crazy life. During the meeting, I found myself somewhat envious of those who were able to cry and express such depth of pain for the loss of their parent/loved one. Just as in life I longed to have the kind of relationship that other people had with their moms, in death I now wanted to have the same kind of relationship and grief experience as those around me.
First, I wonder what is wrong with me, that I don’t have these responses. Then I wonder if I am suppressing my grief somewhere, like a back cupboard somewhere that has hidden in it several plates that got shoved beyond reach or view.
One thing did come to me for certain. And that is the fact that I lost both of my parents to addiction, one to cigarettes and the other to alcohol and drugs. It has made me passionately committed to recovery, for myself and my family and friends. It is the best and only way I know how to honor their memory and to be true to myself as I try to be the best me I can be.
As I attempt to find the grief for my mother’s passing that I must have misplaced somewhere, I also remember what a good friend in recovery told me a while back when I started wrestling with this question. They said that I had actually been grieving for years, and that the passing was just a period on a very long sentence. I got to thinking, maybe there is something to that. The hoping, the wishing, the longing for a relationship that remains unfulfilled, that is something that must be grieved, and I had been doing it since I could remember, so that was literally over 40 years of grieving. So maybe I am “grieved out”. We’ll see.
Much love and thank you for sticking around. Big hugs.