Grieving in the Arms of Community
In the past year, I've had the privilege of joining three different communities of humans that are facing their grief with tenderness and courage. Since January I have done grief walks with Siobhan both virtually and in the Rocky Mountains. In March, I journeyed to Jamaica to join other grieving parents using psilocybin as a tool for exploration and healing, and a month ago I became part of the Writing Your Grief group started by Megan Devine. Here is what it's like to be in a circle of people that have also experienced devastating loss: rather than holding my breath and fearing the feelings, I am held, able to exhale because someone is there to witness without judgment and reflect with compassion.
Without knowing anyone, when I enter these communities it feels safe to shed the layers of protection I cloak myself with when trying to interface with the "real" world. Just allowing that weight to drop at the door is powerfully healing. And then there is the fact that we are talking about or writing about our grief-- there are prompts, poems, stories, sharing, and exercises that open portals to the places that often lay hidden and unknown. I feel myself relax knowing that in these circles people will not shut me down or change the subject, but instead, they will say things like, "stay there, with your tears, stay and see what else wants to come forth" or "I love that line" or "This, Luna.... yes, I totally get it" or "what if we sing with you... we can all do this together."
Community is as essential as air when moving through the weather systems of loss. It's not that I don't need time alone to carry this grief. Every morning I sit with grief and listen in the stillness, my heartbeat bouncing off of hers-- alone and not alone. Yet I believe our survival depends on learning how to grieve as a collective. I don't want to "get over it", I just want help carrying the load-- I want to know that even if you don't totally understand my experience, you are willing to bear witness.
I've discovered that those that have lost a spouse or child, sibling or parent have walked through a portal unwittingly-- and on the other side they, we, are more aware, sensitive, attuned, and caring to the suffering around us. There is such generosity in these communities. We understand the value of being seen. We know how important it is to show up and participate in the roll call. In these circles, we are saying "I am here. I will join hands with all of you to form a net of love that can hold all of our rage and sorrow and surprise and wonder." These scars on our hearts can if we allow them, refine our skills at being human, soften our defenses and clarify our mission.
A note about this amazing community on FB: Over the year this community has evolved and refined itself. Some have dropped out, others have shared my journey with friends and they, too, have joined in the conversation. I've had some moments of raging about insensitivities and platitudes while also sharing what works and doesn't work. The most amazing thing to experience is how much I feel all of you learning with me, growing with me, grieving with me. Some days I sob when I read your comments-- other days I live for your feedback and reflections, knowing that each of you holding space for me has been essential ballast in my vessel, keeping me steady even when the storms swirl around me. This, too, is what community is all about. Thank you for receiving me so beautifully, for reaching out, for sharing your own journeys and resources, and inspirations. The tapestry woven from all of your contributions has made me someone new. This is one of the gifts born of losing my beloved Hunter. No doubt there will be many more.