the game that plays us

In the past year, I have read so many articles, books, poems, and quotes about grief that one would almost believe that I would be an expert on the subject. In fact, I have spent the entire year surrounded by grief, doing the best that I could just to keep from drowning in the anguish of it all. Have I learned from this? Oh, yes... I have learned more than I ever thought neccessary. But, I am no expert. I have no more answers now than I did a year ago, although I do have many, many more questions. During my drive back to Jacksonville tonight, I just felt overwhelmed. Every single emotion I have held in over the past eleven months just hit me all at once, and for a second, I wondered if I had made any progress at all. Sometimes, though, one has to take a few steps back in order to begin moving forward again. I desperately need to open my heart tonight. I need to let go.

They say that there are five distinct stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. This is what we are told to expect, and for the most part, this is an extremely accurate description of how one feels after a big loss. Unfortunately, there are so many things that we are not told to expect. Because of this, there are periods that can only be described as darkness.... complete, total, and utter darkness. When Brother Larry died, many weeks passed before I truly accepted that he was gone. And, even when I reached that point, it took months before I accepted that he was never coming back. For me, the five stages of grief cycled when they should have ended. This year, I did not just grieve over the deaths of people that I loved. Grief is about so much more than death. Grief is about loss. Grief is about changing one's entire way of life. Grief is waking up every single morning and having to remind yourself that something unimaginable actually happened. And, every time I remember, it takes the breath out of me. It seems unfair that the only solution to making it through something that hurts so badly that you forget how to breathe is to just breathe. When people ask me how to make it through, I always say, "Just breathe." It is the only way to survive this kind of pain. It is the only way to go on.

Grief is an ugly game that plays with the one part of ourselves that we cannot protect, no matter how hard we may try. Just when I think I am okay, my world falls apart all over again. I have learned to just let myself feel the sadness when it comes, hoping that it will run its course without shattering my heart into thousands of little pieces again. Sometimes, all I can do is try and hold on to the belief that one day, it will not hurt so horribly. One day, it will not be unbearable. The best thing that I can do for myself is to let go when I can. Letting go is part of healing, but it is the one part of all of this that terrifies me the most. How can I possibly let go? How can I ever be okay with them not being here?

Grief looks different on everybody. Some of us throw ourselves into work. Some of us struggle to get out of bed every morning. Some people put on a happy face for others, while other people do not even attempt to hide their broken hearts. Some people cling to old routines, pretending for their own sakes that nothing has changed, while other people avoid anything that reminds them of the way life was before everything changed. The stages of grief look different on everyone, but there are always five. Sometimes, I look at other people, and I wonder if they cry themselves to sleep some nights like I do. The thought of anyone else that I love feeling the way that I do makes me ache in the pit of my stomach, and all of a sudden, I get angry at the world for causing pain to the people that I love the most. Grief does not only concern what is taken from us, but also what is left of those who survive.

Grief is as dark and deep as the ocean, as big and vast as the sky, and as quiet and persistant as the reoccuring nightmare of one's childhood. It is a force like no other, and can only be equaled in power by love, faith, patience, and time. This is what I DO know. This is what I HAVE learned. Grief is a teacher to all who allow it to be. This knowledge was far more costly than my college education, and unlike many of the things I have learned in the classroom, I will not forget any of this. And, at the end of every single day, I would trade all of this knowledge in a heartbeat for just one more minute with the people I have lost this year. I would give anything to see them again... you name it, I would give it away without an ounce of consideration. If they knocked on my door right now, I would not ask a single question. I would just hug them until someone made me let go, as I would eventually have to do. And, that is what I have to do now, even without the knock on the door or the hug. If they cannot be with me, then I am glad that they are in a place where they are protected from all pain and evil. Before they were loved by me, they were loved by God. He will keep them safe, and if I allow it, He will allow me to join them one day.

Grief is not a game that we play. Grief is a game that plays us. It tests our faith in God, ourselves, and others. It pushes us to the point that we once thought was the limit, and then it pushes us beyond that, forcing us to reconsider the limits we set for ourselves. Grief molds us, stretches us, and recreates us. Grief breaks our hearts, but it also pushes us to put the pieces back together again. Grief is what turns boys into men, girls into women, and children into adults. Grief creates poets, writers, musicians, artists, and friends. Grief reminds us that we are merely human beings, living in a world that will never belong to us. Grief is everything and nothing that we're told all at once. Grief is love in another form, and at the end of the day, that is all that anybody needs to know. Where there is love, there is God, and all we can do is trust in Him. This is His world... we are just living in it. When I accept the fact that I have no control, then I will be able to let go. I have to do this. It is time.

Tonight, I learned that I knew much more than I thought. Like I said, sometimes, you have to take a few steps back in order to move forward. Tonight, I hand over all desire for control to God. Tomorrow, I will breathe. Tomorrow, I will move forward. Eventually, I will be okay.