Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Meet my bestie, "Grief."

A teenage friend of mine recently lost her second daughter at just two weeks old. Such a loss can be catastrophic for a young woman, I know. Wounds too fresh should not be touched, so I waited a little bit to gather my thoughts and inspiration... and I finally mustered up enough peace and will to write her. In addition to my tears, this is what poured out...


The pain won't stop.
But you'll get better at living with it.
For now, I hope you'will get in touch with that grief.

That pain will be the one thing that will remind you you're still alive,
that you've survived your overwhelming loss.
At this point, I know the emptiness in your gut feels like it's growing.
You may think that its black hole will soon swallow you entirely,
or perhaps that it already has.
That darkness may be your actual womb missing your baby;
a feeling usually replaced when a new mother gets to hold her baby in her arms,
but you and I aren't so lucky.


The best definition of 'forgiveness' I ever heard is "giving up the hope that the past could be any different."

In our culture, forgiveness is usually something we're expected to give others, when they do us wrong.
But in times of loss like these, who do we blame?
Who has done us wrong?
Yes, "God" seems vindictive, if at all existent.
No one else took her from you, so we all too often end up blaming ourselves.
It's not a valid blame, but still THAT is where the forgiveness MUST be given.

You MUST find a way to eventually forgive [yourself].
"...to give up the hope that the past could have been any different."
In the mean time, feel into the Grief. Get to know it like it's your new best friend, because...well, she is: Grief will be the closest friend at your side for years to come. You'll get to know how to tell her to shut up when you're too busy, and you'll let her spill her guts when you have the time to really listen. Don't ignore her, or she'll blow up at you when you least expect it... but never let Grief become more important than your life. She'll be the best friend you'll want to share secrets with, and listen to sad songs with. No one will understand you like she does (especially not the men in your life, and that's okay.)

So, from my old best friend to your new best friend... I'm so sorry for your loss.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

I Love you: a Post-Valentine's Day poem


I LOVE YOU.
No really, you. Yes you.
I love you. I love you just as much today as I did yesterday...
and perhaps even a little more.
I love you without condition:
my love is a simple, humble gratitude for your presence in this Universe, on this plane of consciousness where we have met.
I love you,
because I know I have loved you before,
and will love you again.
I love you because my prophets have taught me to love you this way.
I don't have to like you to love you (but I like you anyway),
nor do I have to see you, tell you, kiss you, or touch you to love you; I only have to know of your existence.
Will you meet me here?
Will you knock down your walls, your defensive ways of skepticism and mistrust to meet me in this holy place?
If you don't, I will love you the same.
I will continue to love you until the day I die, until the day you cease to exist as you, or the day we cease to exist as us, at which time I will love you infinitely more.