Grief Turns Out to Be a Place None Of Us Know Until We Reach It

Grieving the loss of a child is such a strange, complicated process. Sometimes you wonder if the gaping wound in your soul is ever going to mend and at other times you feel immense guilt when you realize its been a while since you've been to see your child's grave. In both instances, you wonder if there is something wrong with you. Is my Grief "normal". Is it lasting too long? Am I moving forward too fast? Am I exceeding, meeting or failing others expectations for what this sojourn should look like? How are my family and friends being affected by my Grief for the good or ill?

Ultimately, I've come to realize that I can't measure my healing by anyone else's standards or experiences. It can't be understood from the outside looking in. It is an intensely personal journey that no one can speed up or travel or change for you. Grief demands to be experienced on an intimately exclusive odyssey.

I have found great truth in the words of author Joan Didion who said, "Grief turns out to be a place none us us know until we reach it."

It's been a long time since I've felt suffocated by my Grief. For a while now, I've been able to acknowledge it calmly, to even sit comfortably with it. Sometimes, I can even examine it with curious eyes and see that it's not as ugly and one-dimensional as I once thought.

When I look closer, I can see the utility of my Grief, the wisdom in it - the great Instructor lingering beyond the grim guise of Jailor.

To my surprise, I have found that perhaps, Grief could even be considered...beautiful.

I've come to see that perhaps Grief was exactly the catalyst I needed after all to become wise and useful and beautiful too.

I think I'm being to catch a glimpse of that other worldly place where Grief has been slowly leading me.  

It feels vaguely familiar - like I was meant to be here all along.