The Tunnel

There a lot of ways in which we're wired as a society in regards to our reactions. Some of the most common ones during a time of strife are, "everything happens for a reason, at least ______ happened, time is the best healer" etc etc.).  The one that grinds my gears the most though is "it's all going to work out". Honestly, that's just not always the case - things may simmer down, but maybe the end result isn't what you wanted it to be. I often wonder why we're less apt to commiserate with one another and admit that a situation flat out stinks, that it's not fair, and that we wish it wasn't happening to ourselves or someone else. It seems as if admitting that honest thought will somehow make the situation even worse, which seems counter intuitive. I know that I may be in the minority and that many people may actually find a lot of comfort in knowing that some way, some how things will work out even if it seems otherwise at the moment. What I keep picturing, though, is the feeling of having to walk through a scary dark tunnel in those difficult times. Some people wait for you on the other end of that tunnel on the bright side, calling your name and eagerly awaiting your arrival. Others jump into that tunnel of darkness with you and even if they can't guide you to the other end, they're there to hold your hand.

I came across this article last week and it really struck a cord with me. There have been times over the last few months when I've been questioning why I've been feeling a certain way with my grief, as if I shouldn't be feeling that way. In those times, I've experienced some sucker-punch moments when Dr. H says something along the lines of, "Maria, your father died. Unexpectedly. How could you expect yourself to not continue feeling this way?". It hurts to hear that, but it's also a reminder that I need. Sometimes I feel like I've become part of a underground, unwelcome club of people who are grieving. I wonder if it's similar to the feeling that people express when they welcome a child to their family and say that being a parent has changed them in a way that they can't fully express. I feel like grieving has changed me in a way that I can't fully express either, although I have a feeling that those who have or are going through the same thing can relate in some way.

Here are some other quotes that I found comfort in from the article...

Closure doesn’t appear to be an accurate metaphor for the general course of our human bereavements. Instead, “normal” grief can last in some form for a lifetime.

Sometimes I ask them to tell me why they think they shouldn’t still be sad. And most of the time we come to the conclusion they’re in my office so I can somehow put a cork in it for them so they can stop upsetting their families and the rest of the world. Because somewhere we still believe that grief is contagious, and that if we’re too heavily exposed to the grief of others, we’ll catch it. As if sadness were an airborne disease, we avoid exposure by keeping our distance. This is a canny little psychological two-step that allows us to pretend the grieving person in front of us is suffering in a way that we will never be forced to suffer.

And maybe that’s the grief work we have yet to do as a culture. To make more room for the ghouls that live among us and find their way into all of our houses, one day, bringing grief that takes its own sweet time to soften.

There are all sorts of things that we grieve in life - whether it's a loss of something or someone physical, or a loss of something that we hoped for. Here's to walking through that dark tunnel that sneaks up on all of us at some point with hands to hold by our side.