I
have spent the whole day running from it, ducking into anything to hide from
it, evading it at nearly any cost. Like from Dodgeball, “Dodge, duck,
dip, dive, and dodge.” I poured myself into useless phone apps in the predawn
hours. I read the L.A. Times, mostly for the funny pages. I did crossword
puzzles to distract myself because I work a puzzle, I get zoned in on it.
Then
I inundated myself by waking up hibernating projects. I took a writing piece to
the next stopping point and handed it off and still the worry nagged at the edges of
my heart and mind. I worked on digitizing old VHS tapes of my grandfather’s 8mm
film reels. The device I’d been successfully using crapped out on me so I drove
them to a pro with a next step of viewing Cindy’s and my VHS tapes to do the
same with the ones we want to preserve. The old DVD/VHS player didn’t play the
tapes at all and I was stuck again. To prove the stupid box is connected right
I stuck in a DVD and it played masterfully. I let Silverado play through
getting lost in western gunfights and awesome dialog. Still, it was always in
my periphery. So clearly was it in the edge of vision, I almost cursed the talent that helped me steal
hundreds of passes and disrupt even more plays on the basketball court.
I
stayed off social media because of Facebook’s constant reminders of past posts
on this day four years ago, three years ago, two years ago, last year. I forced
myself not to group text; “let them be”, I told myself.
Grief.
The
simple definition for this unfathomable process is a deeply poignant anguish
caused by bereavement. This is the “it” that has been dogging my tracks today on the fourth anniversary of my mom’s death. The honest truth is that grieving her
loss, which followed so closely the loss of my dad, provides a one-two punch
that is difficult for me to slip and get in an offensive rhythm of my own. Most days I
can dance around the ring and trade blows while staying on my feet and scoring
a few touches of my own. I can get things done that need doing, do things that
I enjoy doing, and tackle responsibilities that, while I’d rather do something else, I can do them anyway.
What
I find most effective is staying toe-to-toe with grief when it enters the ring
and face it for what it is. Sometimes it is even better to get close, close enough
to get into a clinch and wrestle with it. The only referee for me in a fight
like this is Jesus. He can pull us apart and send us to our corners, give me a
standing eight-count when I need it, and keep the fight fair. The problem with
a bout like I had today is that when I run, hide, and avoid the conflict, my
Referee can’t act and I end up exhausting myself. Fighting grief is best done
as a tag-team match with our closest of confidants.
We
handle grief in our own ways and wrestle with it and grapple with emotions that are
as individual as our fingerprints. I don’t recommend running from it nor do I
suggest we engage with it to the point it consumes us. Do not deny it, it will
only build up to a breaking point. Don’t fill the void with excessiveness or stupid
things. Playing hide and seek on a blank canvas surface surrounded by ropes
designed to keep combatants together is not a productive approach.
When I spend too much time with pointless mechanisms to handle losses, I end up not being an effective person; I don’t love right and I don’t serve effectively, and these things lead to a self-loathing whirlpool. Breaking the hold with these things weighing us down is doggone difficult and many times we need help in getting back into the flow of life. Reach out and tag them in to help.
When
grief taps you on the shoulder and challenges you to meet in the parking lot,
turn ever so calmly, look it in the face, and take grief on right there. Don’t
screw up the rest of your day worrying over meeting a bully later.
In
His grip,
jerry
