Grief is Love with Nowhere to Go - episode 243
Maybe grief is like a boulder set in your path that you have to figure out how to grow around. It’s not going anywhere, you can’t move it, so you find ways up, over, around and beyond it. That is the metaphor Kelsey Ellis used in describing the grief of losing her sister from Covid complications. Kelsey is our Grief and Gratitude guest this week. I also appreciated her expression that “grief is love with nowhere to go.” Well then, what do you do? In Kelsey’s case you start an organization that creates a place for grief. One that is out in nature, near the water, where you can remember your loved one, honor them, and be grateful for the love you shared. She started Waves of Grief for that very purpose.
Cozy. Grounded. Present.
— Kelsey Ellis
It’s a Dress Rehearsal
Thoughts from Grief is Love with Nowhere to Go
Here’s what I’m wondering. I can think of a handful of times in my life when I grieved and the person was still alive. The situation changed and they were no longer a presence in my life, or they changed and that shifted the dynamic. What then? I can remember a time when it was the end of a relationship and I asked a therapist I was seeing at the time, Why aren’t I grieving? She said, Because you already did. Yes. That was true. What I felt was relief. Elation. Peace.
Now I find myself in a different season of grief. Up until very recently my father has been on the periphery of my life. Not a big part and I made my peace with that years ago. I was actually thankful he hadn’t raised me as he lacked the skill-set to do it properly. Not his fault, not quite capable, and that’s okay. We do the best we can, and when we know better we do better. You know the quote and likely, you know the drill. This grief is multi-layered. There is the sorrow of what we didn’t have, and I’m not talking about my childhood. I’m talking about all the adult years I’ve had, still on the periphery, not wanting all the way in. Again, made (and making) my peace. The next layer is now being in a situation along with my brother to tend to his care. All of it. I am distressed over caring for someone who I am biologically related to who has had more impact by not being in my life than by being in it.
I want to be noble. I want to be honorable. I want to do the right thing. And I am. For the most part. I’m also checking myself to make sure my feelings don’t get the best of me. I can honestly say I am not feeling resentful but I’m also wondering if that will change. It would be understandable if it did. I want to allow myself a vast array of emotions as simply part of the process. To feel them one by one, or several at a time, and move forward.
We are at the start of what I’m guessing will be a marathon. Two months into a cancer diagnosis, tests still coming back, he has steadily been declining. We’ve stepped in. I’m in charge of medical and my brother’s in charge of financial, of which there isn’t much coming in, with probably more bills than money. Things are starting to escalate as we navigate oh so many moving parts. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed and I know there’s more, lots more to come. This is where boundaries will come in as crucial, crucial for me to survive. But what are they? How do I decide? And when? I have my concerns. I know sacrifices will have to be made. I get that. The tricky part is, where is the line? I’m guessing it moves based on the day, the available information at hand, and my tank.
I want to be sure I am taking care of myself. You know, the oxygen-mask philosophy or you-can’t-pour-from-an-empty-cup thing. All those. Today was hard. There felt like an insurmountable amount of calls to return, people to listen to, information to be gathered. Halfway through the day I stopped and went and had my overdue nails done. Yes, a luxury, not a regular habit. And I didn’t allow myself to get on my phone to “get stuff done” or to mindlessly scroll. I engaged with the people providing the service, and I people-watched. It felt so good to be, and to stay, in the moment.
I know this is a dress rehearsal. We are gearing up for the finale, his final days, and then after. No idea when that will be but it is inevitable and likely not in the distant future. He’s told me who to call and the arrangements he’s made. That was thoughtful. So I will do what is expected, fulfilling my responsibility to the best of my ability. I can do that. And maybe that is the last act of love this daughter had for her father, with nowhere to go.
The love you have has value even if it can’t be fully received.
God knows your heart.
88-years old, learning new things
