Grief can stack

It's December 10th. Essentially 14 days until Christmas. And while I'm breathing out about being on the other side of Alex's Stem Cell transplant, the dreaded mountain I didn't want to have to climb, I'm also grieving. In a season of intensity like the one we've been navigating there are so many small losses that I've been stacking off to the side with the knowledge that I'm gonna need to grieve all those... later. Is this later? It doesn't feel like it, but some of them are demanding to be felt, to be heard and to be grieved.

Can I be honest? It's work I don't really look forward to. Grieving is hard. There's the kind of grief that sweeps in, knocks you off your feet and demands all your attention and then there's small griefs that are quieter, but no less valid in their need to be addressed. These can go unattended for a lifetime honestly. When put off to the side, like I've been doing, they stack and ferment wreaking havoc at some later date if not addressed soon. 

So, I guess I need to roll up my emotional sleeves and get to work. ugh.

I can't imagine...

Perhaps one of the most common phrases that I've heard over the past 2 years is, "I can't imagine what you're going through." But that isn't true. You, dear soul who has uttered this phrase, can absolutely imagine walking this road. Therein lies the gut punch. Ironically, it's precisely because we can imagine the difficulty, pain, loss and struggle that we say this phrase. I think we should change this knee jerk response phrase to, "I can imagine what you're going through, but I don't want to." Isn't that what is really being said?

Laugh and the world laughs with you...

My mom used to say, "Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone."  Today I decided to see if she got that from somewhere, lo and behold, she did!  

Solitude

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;

Weep, and you weep alone;

For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,

But has trouble enough of its own.

Sing, and the hills will answer;

Sigh, it is lost on the air;

The echoes bound to a joyful sound,

But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;

Grieve, and they turn and go;

They want full measure of all your pleasure,

But they do not need your woe.

Be glad, and your friends are many;

Be sad, and you lose them all,—

There are none to decline your nectared wine,

But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;

Fast, and the world goes by.

Succeed and give, and it helps you live,

But no man can help you die.

There is room in the halls of pleasure

For a large and lordly train,

But one by one we must all file on

Through the narrow aisles of pain.

For some reason this saying of hers has been in my mind all week. I know it sounds morose, but this poem pretty much says everything I feel at the moment.

 

The Incline

Remember my post about how this cancer journey is like being dropped off at a trail head with no map, no idea how long the hike is, no idea the elevation gain, expected weather conditions and no idea if and when your snacks, water, backpacking gear and relevant necessities will appear? Yeah. Well, as it turns out that trail head drop off point was 2 years ago. We've crested mountains we would have sworn were the summit. We've meandered a bit and caught glimpses of a very dark valley and a steep mountain beyond that we all prayed wasn't a feature of this particular trail. And now? We're on the edge of that valley and the incline beyond.

I know from experience that I will find a cadence in the difficulty ahead, but I also know the burn of those muscles as they get pushed to their limit. I have a bit of muscle memory, and it all begs to abdicate. Even knowing there is no way but through, I don't want to do it.

Discomfort anyone?

 What does it take to sit in discomfort?

I've been pondering this question for awhile. (Is my whole blog about this question? I don't think so, but it features a lot.) Probably because life/God keep giving me opportunities to sit here, and so I keep pondering. Very recently I was evaluating this current discomfort and asking God for more tools to navigate the hard. I sat in quiet and stillness for a few hours, waiting. Thankfully, I had these beautiful trees to keep me company.

As I was watching the aspen leaves quiver in the very slight wind that was gusting through from time to time I was thinking about the seasons and the pattern God laid out for us on repeat. I was watching these aspen leaves that hold on to the branch by the thinnest of stems. So delicate their grasp on stability. They wave and quiver and look like the slightest breeze could knock them loose and it doesn't, until all at once it does. Down they float gracefully to join a million others blanketing the forest floor in gold. It's beautiful.

I tend to fight this season. Fight the discomfort. Fight to stay afloat and stable. 

"He makes us wait. He keeps us on purpose in the dark. He makes us walk when we want to run, sit still when we want to walk, for He has things to do in our souls that we are not interested in." - Elizabeth Elliot

Honestly? I don't think many of us have what it takes to sit in discomfort. This is a skill crafted by the master craftsman. It's not something highly valued in our society or even in ourselves. It's a gift most of us don't want. I know I don't want it. At least not a first blush, but since I'm here...

Inflection point

I've been thinking about inflection points in life. How they can be both major and incredibly small things along the journey. I have plenty of major ones. But I also have a collection of small inflection points that are little markers fluttering in the breeze (and sometimes in the gale), marking the path I've walked.

One that came to mind recently was just a flash of a moment in time when I was 19. Here is the setting: Daniel, Dathan and I had traveled by train and boat from Moscow, Russia to Kristiansand, Norway to visit dear friends. The journey had been long, dirty and exhausting. We had eaten very little and pretty much nothing of nutritional value, (think Nutella and bread). It was the dead of winter, so I was wearing an oversized ugly blue coat that had been my pillow/blanket on many a cold hard floor/bench/seat. We were coming from Tbilisi, Georgia where we hadn't been able to properly wash anything in months due to a lack of hot water (and being a teenager)! So we arrived in beautiful Norway dirty, tired and pretty darn hungry.

Upon seeing these straggly teenagers at her door, my sweet friends mother promptly ushered me to their sparkly clean bathroom where she gave me fresh clothes to wear and I had my first HOT shower in months (literally) and she also gave all my clothes a solid washing. The word divine doesn't come close to that feeling. Being cared for, being clean, being welcomed in...I remember her bringing me my jeans after they had been washed and I thought she had bought me new ones because they were so clean! It was a small moment in time, very simple acts of service and an inflection point in my young life. 

I hope I can pay that kindness forward, and I hope I have. 

                                                           (Reeta and Birthe circa 1993)

wild hare

 This morning I got the wild hare to go back to the beginning of this blog and read my first post. It left me feeling that I diverged from my original intention of starting this whole thing right out of the gates. Good grief. I was gonna use this space to try to unpack the mysteries of life, and what have I done instead? Chronicled randomness. How apropos.

It's still in my mind to try to unpack the winding, crazy roads I've traveled. But unfortunately, cancer is kinda staring me down and daring me to talk about anything but. We'll just have to see.