Thursday, August 28, 2014

Some thoughts on grief, 2 years after my mother's passing.

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of my mother's passing. 

I wanted to go visit her grave site, I don't think I've been since this time last year. But life and work were full, and I could almost hear her saying, in that way of hers, "You have plenty going on, come when you can, this day is no different than any other."

And that was who she was. She didn't set a lot of store in holidays or anniversaries, preferring to live and love well everyday, and I am like her in this way.

A few weeks ago Patrick related to me how a friend of his, awhile back, had described the process of grieving to him, and I liked the description. 

His friend said that grief was something like moving to a new town. At first, the whole of the area is new, unfamiliar, bewildering, and overwhelming. 

But as the months and then years pass, you become accustomed to the new terrain. The streets are familiar, you know your way around. You make new connections to the place and the people, it begins to feel more like home, more comfortable.

If I relate that to my experience of moving from San Diego to New York, it feels very true. And I would go further and say that while New York doesn't feel like home in the way that San Diego still does to me, I have now have familiarity and comfort, and some roots here now. I'm easy with it.

I feel easier with the loss of mama these days. Not that I like it, far from that. But I have noticed that some of the intensity of losing her has lessened.

And I had this sudden understanding of why we, why I, might choose to hold on to grief, rather than let it pass through me, as I believe it's meant to.

When the grief was fresh and sharp, it was all so intense and tangible, that it almost felt like she was still here, that somehow those feelings were holding her here.

And as this has softened, gradually, I'm recently aware that I'm thinking of her in past tense. As memories. And I half believe that this is how it should be, and half want to really fight that, as if in fighting it I can somehow hold her more here, more present.

But it doesn't really work that way. I do believe, in some fashion, she is still present. I don't really know what that means still, but I'd like to. And I do believe that I'm more likely to understand as more time passes, and it all softens more.