Grief

by Kayce Stevens Hughlett

It’s been a sad week in the Hughlett household. Last Thursday morning, my husband and I made the heartrending decision to say good-bye to our 18-year old beloved friend, Aslan the cat. The same day, I participated in Elle’s lovely class on “Completion” where we explored pain, loss, old wounds and other places where we might want or need to express self-compassion. [If you haven’t listened to the recording, I offer a hearty invitation to give yourself a generous gift and hop on over.]

This leads me to the topic of today’s post: Grief. I’m not sure we can honestly talk about eldering or being an elder without talking about grief. It is, as some have said, “the natural order of things.” The longer we live, the more losses we incur—people, pets, tight skin, hair pigment, mobility, culture as we’ve known it … The list goes on, and how we grieve these losses (or don’t) becomes an essential part of who we are.

In a text exchange between the Garden founders (Elle, Lezli, and I), Lezli posed the question: “Is it grief that completes us and teaches us how to grow into our true selves?” No one taught me how to grieve well. How about you? I’ve often said, “my family didn’t do grief.” Whether we “did it” or not, it lives inside me and is something to be reckoned with.

The only way through grief is to allow it to have its way with us. But what is that “way”? For the grief over my own father who passed suddenly the day after my 19th birthday, it looked like having sex for the first time and marrying a boy whose father had also died. My body and soul found a way to process my grief even when there were no words or healthy role models. [I invite you to pause for a moment and consider who your ‘grief teachers’ have been.]

And what of the other griefs and losses in our lives? What do we do when the world at large and/or our personal lives feel out of control? Our bodies fail us? Essential freedoms disappear? Beloved people and pets sit at death’s door? What then? We can fight it, stay busy, pretend it’s not happening, rail against God or other powers that be. We can run from it with many of the same tactics or we can freeze. Freeze, in grief’s case, may be numbness—excess sleep, motion with no destination or intention … All normal. All acceptable, because ‘damn!’ we are only human.

But grief is relentless. It has its own agenda, timeline, methods, way. There is no formula. No prescription. Yes, it has stages: anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance; [Thank you, Elisabeth Kübler Ross.] And recently a 6th stage has been added: Meaning.

So here I sit, writing this post, attempting to make meaning. Not of death or loss per se, but of this friend called Grief. It is more than I can tackle in a brief essay. More than my body can handle as I sit with the loss of my beloved kitty, but/and/aha… As I write, I realize this is my life’s work, my star chart, my purpose: To make meaning or at least to seek it.

Grief isn’t always about dying, but it is about loss. Loss of dreams, lifestyle, ways of being. Here we circle back to the beginning of this post and I wonder if this is the “true self” (the wholeness) about which Lezli posed her question. Is grief a part of our ‘completion’ process? I have no answers, no steps or formula or prescription. At this moment, I have my own grief; and so much more—memories, skills, this blessed community, and most precious of all, I have desire. Desire to know better and do better, not for the sake of getting anything “right,” but for the sake of wholeness. For the sake of healing, for honor and respect. For the sake of all beings, our incredible world as it is. For the sake of generations who’ve gone before and those that will come after.

Grief is not hopelessness (although that may indeed be one of its phases. Despair, anyone?) Wrestling with grief, looking it in the face, railing against it, crying with it, and all the other things we are compelled to do, including fight, flight, and freeze. Why do we do them? I say we grieve, because we are hopeful and grateful. Grateful for what we have lost (or are losing), and hopeful for the promise of something different, better, unique, more whole and true.

Grieve on, dear ones, whatever may be breaking your heart today. And if you’re blessed to feel whole today, Hurray!!! Cancer season continues to bring us all these glorious feelings. May you be held in the Great Mother’s womb of deep and unconditional love. Aho. Amen. Namaste.

Thoughts? Comments? Ahas? We’re listening. xo