The Length Of Grief

I was introduced to the music of Ludovico Einaudi this summer. His piece called Sarabande spoke to me. It was as if I could see my own aura through the music. In listening I realized there were no words left. It was time to be silent. Time to feel and reengage myself. It was there and then that I understood what to do with sadness, how to convert that to joy. Click the link (his name) and listen to my soul. Better yet, listen to yours.

My emotions have always been truncated by the need to get things done. It’s the workhorse ethic my Mother instilled. Like feelings were a luxury somehow. But I have been arrested. I gave, or if I was honest, life gave me permission to pause. I tried going on, working hard, balancing all the work that needed doing and ran myself right out of words. It is in the pause I realized the depth of my grief. One would think that the loss of an elderly father would sit more easily in my bones, but it doesn’t. Whatever his age I miss him. I see now who held me in the fold, who held the fold together. I find as time goes on it’s not one person but the whole that unraveled that day. It feels alone.

I grieve the loss of Mom who lives squarely in memories of loving him, as if she is on the other side of a garden fence staring longingly at the flowers and hoping quietly to fill a vase so she can remember later. It feels like she is lurking at the gate, wanting to skip through and follow the rose laden path right to my fathers arms.
Dementia is cruel, it softens the edges and sharpens the tongue. It can be a place caught between love and pain ruled by frustrated emotion. People have asked why I don’t just let go, she can be difficult, let her see. Admittedly Mom is like snuggling a hedgehog. But it is here, at the garden gate that I learn the most. It is here I know our bond will grow.

Grief breeds love. She is here, he is gone, he took a better part of her with him. But as I remade the bed my father passed away in, I felt him. I heard him.

“ Love her like I would Suz.”

You see, there is now a little love left over, and grief is not knowing what to do with it. It’s not that we stop loving those that have gone, but they are no longer in need of the everyday action of our loving. Where do I put that? It’s a gift. A little portion to give away to someone else.I have said before that if i could have any superpower it would be to manipulate death with love. This feels like how.

Look at those around you near and far, try and see the world as they see it and love them there. I take my mothers hand and walk her away from the garden gate. “Not today Momma” Today is for ice cream. Let’s have that... before dark.