A Conversation with Grief: Part 1
There was an awkward silence as I stood with Grief, he stared at the floor whilst I looked any way other than directly at him. He was clearly distressed, I was crying. I wanted to say something but I wasn’t sure what.
“I’m sorry” he mumbled.
“You don’t need to apologise,” I replied, softly, “you didn’t make this happen.”
“I know but it has and now I’m here and…” he was floundering, as though he didn’t really know what to say either.
“You don’t need to explain.” I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, the tears still falling.
Grief looked at me for a while, then he took a breath, as though he was trying to compose himself. “Look it tends to work best if you understand a little bit about me, about where I’m coming from, so that we can learn to get along...” he sat down next to me.
“Right,” I replied, not sure I wanted his company but equally not sure if I had any choice. “So how do, we…what, how does this work? I stumbled over my questions, as I wiped away the tears that were dripping onto my lap.
He glanced sideways at me. “Well, it’s different for everyone.”
“Ok?” I wasn’t sure that was the most helpful of explanations.
“Well, I’m not here to hurt you, I’m not here to make this harder.” He looked down at his own fingers as he scratched one thumb nail on the other.
“What are you here for then? I still didn’t look at him but I was actually interested now.
“So, I’m, well, how do I explain, I’m here as a carrier, a container, a holding place for all of the emotions you will feel in the next few days, weeks, months, years….”
“Years?” I turned my head to look at him, I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of years.
“Yeah, I’ll be with you for a while, well, by ‘a while’ I mean forever!” he sounded almost amused by his own explanation.
“Forever?” I clarified, still staring at him before turning my head to look down at my own hands again, twiddling my rings round, this was getting to be too much to take in.
“Ok, let me explain, it won’t always be like this…” he offered.
“Oh, ok, good, I think.” I was confused, maybe relieved.
“As I was saying, I hold a mixture of emotions, all of which will make their voices heard in time, some more than others.” he explained, staring at the picture on the wall in front of us.
“Like who?” I wanted to know who to expect.
“We’ll talk about that another time.” he assured me, glancing at me. “What you need to know right now is that there’s no right way to respond to me, you and I, well, we’ll work out our own unique way of being together and, over time, it will get easier to be around each other. I doubt you’ll ever really be pleased to see me but I’m used to that. I just want to do my job well, do the best that I can so that you can function; do all you need to do, be you, learn, grow, be the you that this experience shapes you into.”
“Sure.” I replied hesitantly, trying to work out if his words made sense.
“Eventually you won’t need me so much, and I will back off, but I find that there are moments, occasions, triggers; reminders that well, kind of invite me back in…just for a while.” He stopped and stared at me, his eyes had a depth of kindness to them, and his presence wasn’t as painful and awkward as it had been when we'd first started talking. I’d stopped crying. Somehow what he’d said made sense. It made sense that he would always be a part of my life but that he wouldn’t always invade my space. It made sense that he held a variety of emotions, all of which may well find expression over time. It also made sense that my relationship with him would be unique. I took a breath in and then very slowly let it out, trying to calm myself.
“You ok?” He asked.
“Yes, I am,” I replied, “I really am.”
He stood up and held his hand out to take mine, “So are you ready to do this?” He smiled.
“Yeah, I think so,” I smiled back, as I rose to my feet and placed my hand in his.
“It all belongs,” he winked, as we left the room, together.
By Deb Bridges (Director, Writer and Life Coach for Prodigal Collective)