I Am Still Thankful

I have a lot to be thankful for. I don't feel like typing a narrative, so I'm going to go with bullet points.

• Renewed faith/hope and an expansion of the range of emotions I'm capable of
• My loving family, supportive church community and those crazy people who live behind me
• Tess and Cooper who may actually manage to love me more than all of the above
• A job doing exactly what I want to be doing. 
• Cherry sours and 10 for $10 Friendly's Ice Cream Cups

There's probably more, but I am Le Tired. 

Brian plays Roulette at the Wynn in Vegas - July, 2013

The Hairball And The Open Door

I processed through some things last week that I didn't write about. I considered sharing, because I want to be honest about what I'm going through, but in the end,  I decided that some things just aren't for public consumption.

I think those things from last week had been in the way, like hair and goop clogging the shower drain. Everything I've washed down got tangled up in the hairball. Snaking it out may mean that things will flow more smoothly in the future, but for the moment I have a giant slimy ball of hair and goop that needs to be cleaned up and disposed of.

I'm supposed to just know when it's time to move on, but that's a bit of bullshit.

I can't trust myself or my instincts at all. I stumble on the clutter of my emotions on a nearly daily basis. I don't "just know" anything at all.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a room with an open door. The room is dark and lonely, but it's familiar and all my stuff is here. I'm not afraid of the shadows, I don't trip on the furniture, and if I need to rest I know where to find a chair. Everything I've ever known and loved is on this side of the door.

The rest of my life is on the other.

If I cross the threshold, I'm afraid the door will close behind me. I fear that I won't be able to get back to the safety and comfort of my dark, lonely room. But what if it closes before I walk through it? What if  I get stuck here in the dark forever?

I know I can't rush this process, but I'm super duper tired of it. I want to see what's on the other side of the door. Unfortunately, every time I go near it, I fall down. 

In fact, every single time I think I'm getting it together, I fall apart again. Sometimes it feels as if I'm back at day one. It seems like I spend nearly all of my time flat on my face or struggling to stand up again. From time to time, I think the door has already closed (or that I only imagined it's existence in the first place).

Maybe this IS my new normal and I need to find a way to be content with it. Maybe I need to suck it up and drive on, or maybe I need to find even an ounce of patience and just wait it out a little longer. 

Have I mentioned how much I hate this?

Canyon Lake 2013. The only available life vest
was child-sized, but he wore it anyway because he
wanted to play on the jet-ski.

The Process of Processing

Note: This is not intended to be a how-to for the bereaved. It is just an observation of a pattern that has emerged in my own grief process. 

One of the things I really struggle with is the nature of grief. There are a lot of next steps and the only way to get through them is one at a time. When I try to skip ahead or to artificially accelerate the process I end up falling backwards. 

For me, it takes about a week or so to get through each new thing. Sometimes I get stuck and it takes longer, but there hasn't been anything yet that has worked its way through my mind in less than a week. Here's how it typically progresses:

Raw Emotion

It starts with the chaos of unidentified raw emotion. It is no more or less common for it to look like sadness than elation, giddiness, anger, contempt, shame, joy, fear, dread, nostalgia, doubt, hope, anticipation or anxiety. 

Contemplation

I define the emotion and form an idea about where it is coming from primarily through intellectual contemplation. 

 

Articulation

Once I have an idea of what I'm dealing with and have the words to describe it, I find ways to try to articulate my thoughts. 

A lot of the time, my first attempt at articulation is to wander around my house like a lunatic talking out loud (in conversational English) to God as I pick up shoes, sort laundry and put dishes in the dishwasher. It's not pretty or poetic, but it almost always results in a revelation or two. 

At some point, I'll bring the topic up with family, friends and counselors. If you are one of these people, you should know that I'm not always looking for advice.

In fact, if I'm honest, I'm almost never looking for advice. I am just throwing ideas at you to see which way they bounce. It helps me formulate intelligent questions and identify specific problems that need to be addressed. 

Inquiry

Once I know what the question is, it's really just a matter of finding an answer I can accept as truth. I pray, I Google, I go to a Griefshare, I consult the Bible, I consult the internet, I read devotionals, I watch TV and on occasion, if I have expired all other options, I ask my mom. 

Deliberation

There is an extra step that I have to go through because of my belligerent refusal to just accept things as they are. Deliberation is not an entirely accurate word for what happens, but it's close enough. It's a consideration of the things I know intellectually, the things I accept through faith and how they might apply to my current situation. For whatever reason, I continue to find it necessary to test the conclusions of my faith against the rationale of my intelligence and vice versa. 

Declaration

Telling someone what I've come up with seems to help finalize the solution in my mind. I equate this step to folding the laundry and putting it away. Sharing my conclusions requires me to organize my thoughts so that they can be explained to others. It helps me to further refine my own understanding and to commit to the truth of the answers I have found. 

Dec. 14, 2013 - Eastmark Christmas Party