Imagine a long, lustrous river that skirts along a valley. Perhaps, the river of life. Lots of trees, shrubs, and massive stones on its banks. When it rains or the winds take all control, these riverbank dwellers are thrown into the river, blocking the river’s flow. The river stays stuck for some time based on how disruptive the blocker is, but eventually it finds a way to flow.
Grief is like a stuck river. Replaying the past affections, the body embraces the pain that doesn’t know where else to flow. The mind questions why the carnage ensued, why we allowed the carnage to ensue. Shouldn’t someone have protected us? Wasn’t there anyone who knew how to soothe us?
We are stuck and stale. The dating will stop; the dancing will stop; in worst cases, the eating will largely stop too. In cases like mine, I will uber-focus on paths that can still flow like career or creativity, areas that become my breath as I’m stuck and drowned, an age-old protection mechanism that can easily go into overdrive when left unchecked.
A word of caution here. The river doesn’t bulldoze the rock or the piece of wood. It works with it; it works through it; it sucks some nutrients from the blocker before flowing through. This is what we miss in grief: the nutrients. Nutrients such as uncovering trauma you thought you’ve dealt with, clarity of what’s important to you, humility through pain, life lessons for next time, a compelling purpose connected to loss, and creative outlets and inspiration if you so choose to exult.
