The feel, the taste, the sensation of grief.

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There is only one way to describe it….. one of those days.

The sensation of weight, of carrying an invisible burden, the sensation of fatigue and of feeling somewhat sad, an occasional burst of what felt like a rising tide of emotion but  overall difficult to describe,  a sense of unease and not being able to put a finger on it… nothing but the option of going with it.

In part of an online retreat I watched recently,  by Teah Strozer a Zen buddhist teacher, she perfectly described the problem with grief…

“Grief is a kind of pain when someone dies …. a person you love. When you lose somebody like that there’s a kind of a grieving that is not mental; no words are going on. The body just wells up in grief. It’s painful but it’s also very cleansing, very present, very human, comes with life”

It is not mental, there are no words going on….the body just wells up in grief!

I have talked about in how to sit with sadness. Simply watching my mind, and it is always useful to follow your own advice!. It was during this sitting and watching today that an  instant recognition…. an AHA! moment  occurred.. and I found the analogy for the pain of grief, or at least an analogy for how I experience it.

The similarity of a sensation that none of us want was instantly recognisable..  this may not be the most pleasant visual picture (, but please stick this out.. it will make sense)….reflect back to the last time you vomited…. .. Can you instantly recall and recognise that rising, swelling feeling.. the sudden rush of metallic taste in your mouth and the rapid flush of heat or shivering throughout your body… No matter what you do you cannot control the overwhelming sensation that blooms throughout your senses in the moments before you have no choice but to let go…

Sure you can feel sick before vomiting, but that moment always takes you by surprise..

It describes my sensation of grief when it catches me unaware… even on “one of those days” where you only describe it as feeling off.. the sensation of grief hits. It does have the physical sensations accompanying it… it has it own taste, a feel of welling up and overtaking you no matter how you try to control it, and it reaches a point where you just have to let go and let the tears flow. Where you can no longer grasp and grasp, but must simply let go. It is not an elegant way of describing this feeling, but it really is like an emotional vomit……

As crazy as it seems Teah’s words about it being painful but also cleansing and present feel so true. It is a relief to acknowledge and feel this sensation, to let go and recognise the pain for what it is … the body welling up with grief.

My recent posts have contained a poem… written by me… but not this post… One of the other things that Teah shared in that online retreat was a poem by Anita Barrows called Questo Muro..which Anita describes as being inspired by a section of Dante’s inferno, and it being a poem about finding the courage to persist… for me it was very much about leaning into the sensation.. as I suggested in how to sit with sadness…..

Questo Muro

You will come at a turning of the trail
to a wall of flame
After the hard climb & the exhausted dreaming
you will come to a place where he
with whom you have walked this far
will stop will stand
beside you on the treacherous steep path
& stare as you shiver at the moving wall, the flame
that blocks your vision of what comes after.
And that one
who you thought would accompany you always,
who held your face
tenderly a little while in his hands—
who pressed the palms of his hands into drenched grass
& washed from your cheeks, the tear-tracks—
he is telling you now
that all that stands between you
& everything you have known since the beginning
is this: this wall. Between yourself
& the beloved, between yourself & your joy,
the riverbank swaying with wildflowers, the shaft
of sunlight on the rock, the song.
Will you pass through it now, will you let it consume
whatever solidness this is
you call your life, & send
you out, a tremor of heat,
a radiance, a changed
flickering thing?

As I am posting this just days from Mother’s Day here in Australia, I want to acknowledge the pain and suffering of all the mothers who will be doing Mother’s day without one of their children with them. I will be thinking of you.

Watching, one year on

Today marks one year from the day that I had to perform the saddest duty of life I have spent many hours sitting, standing and watching at Samuel’s graveside, thinking about how much I miss my little man and continuing to learn about grief. The words of this poem reflect the feelings of observing his grave and my thoughts for one whole year.

Samuel’s Graveside

The earth has settled,
grass gently grows,
while the solitary
sentinel tree
stands watch.
Time worn mottled skin,
rustling leaves,
a canopy filled with birdsong
carried on an ever-changing breeze.
Embraced by shifting
big sky horizons.
A seasonal kaleidoscope
of colour,
from a palette of sunshine,
rainbows, clouds and storms.

Watching currawong
and grass parrots fly,
Your beautiful face shines
from your plaque
As it is lovingly stroked
and gently polished
Cold to the touch,
yet warming to my heart.

Sitting with you,
silence is comforting.
Words are meaningless.
as the tidal swell of emotion
ebbs and flows
And often
silently.
solemnly,
I cry.

 

© Michael Morris (themickmorris) 2015 all rights reserved.

Countdown to eternity

 

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Today marks one year….. one year of missing my little man. Holding his hand and stroking his hair and watching the rise and fall of his chest for the last time and the beat of that strong little heart stop was the hardest moment of my life.  

Throughout Samuel’s life after his accident… everything.. and I mean everything was a countdown.. everything had a before and after and the milestones we counted to and from were not those we expected…… One year….and still counting and feeling the unmovable weight of grief.

Countdown to Eternity

I counted
days, weeks
then months
and just a few short years.
Pause….
Reset….
New clock.
Counting days, weeks
then months and years
from THAT day.

Two timers counting
marking milestones.
THIS time
equals half of THAT time,
THIS time
equals THAT time,
THIS time,
doubles THAT time.
Birthdays….
Celebration, trepidation
markers of survival,
markers of decline.

February twenty-two…

Heart stopped… clock stopped.
three twenty pm.

Reset… new counter
Same milestones to pass
THIS time… THAT time
Though no more pauses THIS time,
days, weeks, months
since you’ve been gone.
One year down
Waiting for solace to be found..
THIS time…
a countdown to eternity.

Tainted Freedom

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There is not a single day that passes by that I am not missing my little man, or that there are not small reminders that hurt and bring to mind Samuel’s absence. I am continuing to learn many things about the “process” of grieving, and small signs that remind me that there are things bigger and more mysterious than this life to connect us to our loved ones.

Whilst on a break of a couple of days, I took the photo above of the clouds at sunset over the ocean, and while watching this scene I was thinking about the ocean and the clouds and their constant movement, their power to heal when they are a source of reflection or the power to harm when they rage together.

It was not until looking at the photo that I picked up what to me looks like hands joined together making the shape of heart, and giving my heart a twinge, and the words of this poem came to me……

Tainted Freedom

The restrictions wrought
by the confines of care,
were recognised as the reward
for the purity of our love.

The freedoms gained
are forever tainted
by the spectre of your absence.

 

NYE sans Samuel

Being present in the moment… The theme of my last post.

New Years Eve is a particular point about being present as everyone counts down to one point in time that they hope is full of promise.

Being present in every moment means being fully present in the moments when my grief wells up as well. So while I explained my New Year’s wish for you and I in my last post.. These are the thoughts that emerged in the lead up to that moment.

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NYE sans Samuel.

Flashing, blinding light
A rainbow of color,
Harbour back drop
Revelers by the thousands,
Marking the passing of the year that was your last.
Counting in the new,
The first,
Of far too many,
That will be marked by your absence.
A new year….
But happy?

 

copyright Mick Morris 2015