Sometimes, it's ok
Sometimes life takes a massive dump right where you are walking and you either step right in the middle of it or somehow manage to skirt it at the last second. Sometimes you can see the steaming pile in front of you a mile away but the guard rails are up and there is no exit ramp in sight. I’ve become rather skilled at both side-stepping as well as just owning the crap now stuck to my shoe. I’ll say “it is what it is,” or “I’ve lived through worse,” or simply (and literally), “well, shit!”
I’ve gotten so used to anticipating the dung piles that I’m more surprised when they aren’t there than when they are. I mean, basically everything over the last few years has been epically difficult. Even the most beautiful moments have been tinged on the edges like a burnt photograph. Grief and loss do that. Whether it’s the loss of a person, a relationship, a job or an idealized life – they stain our life perspective and, let me tell ya, it’s not rose-colored.
But sometimes – sometimes – the worst doesn’t happen. Sometimes, a collection of moments turns out ok. Maybe even better than ok, maybe they are even beautiful. That was last weekend for me: my brother’s wedding. I was so worried about having a debilitating grief-induced panic attack that would derail my brother’s wedding. I thought about it, cried over it, wrote about it and planned for it and then you know what? It was fine. Better than fine – I smiled, I laughed and danced and enjoyed a gorgeous weekend celebrating the love of two people dearer to me than most others on this planet.
Did I tear up when Strawbaby was walking down the aisle in her flower girl dress? Of course I did. I could make up some story about how I felt Adelaide walking with her and a little bit I did, but honestly Strawbaby was so terrified that I was distracted by my concern for her well-being. Regardless, she made it down the aisle and sat between Jackson and my mother and all was well. Then the family photos, which I was also concerned about, were over so quickly I barely had time to process them. Also, at this point, Strawbaby was over being told what to wear and where to stand and the product of every photo was essentially a masterclass in toddler negotiation.
By the time I spoke at the reception I was just so relieved to have made it that far. Relieved to have held it together and to have been able to be a support for my brother and new sister, that I might have let my guard down and gushed grief and tears all over that gorgeously decorated reception hall. But you know what, I think it just added to my speech’s effect and the meaningful love I feel for the couple.
This time, anticipating my grief helped me process a good chunk of it in advance. It hasn’t always worked that way but this time it did. I could smell the grief pile coming and I knew there was no avoiding it. Kinda like that going on a bear hunt song: “Can’t go over it, can’t go around it, gotta go through it!” Big grief is like that, maybe you can sidestep it a couple times but eventually you have to go through it. I knew I had to go through the grief dredged up by my brother’s wedding, what I didn’t realize was that by processing it in advance I got to put on those shoe covers that you wear at a real estate open house, or that cleaning people or surgeons wear. The work I did in advance earned me a pair of those disposable booties so I could trudge right through my grief and come out clean on the other side.
This, for me, has been a revelation. I still have to feel the grief, that isn’t avoidable, but I can have a bit of control over when and how strongly it’s felt. For once, I was calling the shots with my grief and not allowing it to control me. Talk about a power play. I’m sure there will still be plenty of mucked up shoes in my future. I won’t always see the steaming piles coming or I won’t have the time or capacity to do my homework and earn my booties. But I know in the chicken dance of my grief this is a big step forward and I’m pretty proud of myself.
