FOR THOSE WHO HAVE KNOWN GRIEF
I imagine you mulling over this question and wondering where I am going with it. You get up and check your posterior in the mirror, walking around the room a bit to see if you are weighed down by anything heavy, metallic and rusty. You may not see this anchor but you may feel it. Sometimes when I am being lazy and am sleepily snuggled on the couch under an afghan, I ask my husband if he feels like getting up and getting me some tea. At times he has replied, half-joking, “There’s no anchor on your ass”. That makes me think about anchors in our lives and what forms they can take.
Right now the New England autumn is lovely. There is a still a warm sun that bounces off the trees and off the carpet of leaves on the ground. Color is everywhere and I take some time each day to look at it and to enjoy it before the cold winter and snow arrive to change the landscape. I enjoy walking in the leaves and scuffling through them with my dog. Sitting in my gazebo with my laptop and working on a poem or an article brings me pleasure and takes the work out of the workday. I let the sun warm up my limbs and my face and I feel nurtured and cozy, but still energized by the taste of crispness in the air. If we have had time recently to make a stop at the local cider mill to buy a sack of honey crisp apples, my favorites, I have one or two as a treat while I am working.
I do have have ambivalent feelings about this season though, even if I mostly love it. When I lived in Northern California I missed the changing seasons so much. Those were the days when I never really gave a lot of thought to the approaching winter and truly relished each day and each season without much effort and with the enthusiasm that youth provided me as a gift. Those were days without knowledge of the changes and the losses of so many of my loved ones that were yet to come and that would often overshadow everything else in my life for a long while.
Then came the first loss of many that would carve a deep hurt into my soul and that would teach me lessons for which I am now grateful, but didn’t really want when they began to happen. Two of these losses happened in October, the month when the colors are peaking in New England, when the world is like a leafy kaleidoscope and the air is brisk and spicy, but warm and sweet too. Now when I take in the fall scenery and open myself up to the splendor and delight of the season, I feel the sadness along with the sweetness. I still enjoy everything about it, but I no longer experience it precisely the same way I did before my understanding and my senses were expanded and opened up to the realities of the world and to the inevitable passage of time and changes we live through at every phase of the life cycle.
Years ago when grief and despair weighed me down like a heavy anchor that kept me stuck in one place all the time (a terrible place emotionally) the autumn air brought me only tears and an inability to see through the screen of sorrow covering my eyes and my heart. There might as well have been an anchor tied to my body because movement in any direction, emotionally or physically, was a major effort. That sorrow still does slide in sometimes and takes hold when I least expect it. It is a shape shifter and surpriser in its various configurations. It no longer dresses in the cloaks of misery, torment, anguish, fear and paralysis. Somehow (with a lot of work, help and the passage of years) I have moved from agony to acceptance and beyond. I have learned too, how to travel from the heaviness of simply surviving, to the light and energy of living fully once again and beliving in a future. I can personally attest to both the fragility of life and to the strength and resilience of human nature. I made the slow and arduous trip from sorrow to survival and finally to satisfaction, but it wasn’t easy.
When I walk on a country path or drive through a patch of particularly spectacular color, I gasp with wonder at the miracle of still being alive, no matter how imperfect that life might feel in some isolated bad moments. A walk earlier today led me to contemplate some more just what anchors are and what forms they take.
An anchor can be something that drags us down, that holds us back and keeps up in one place. An anchor can be in the form of something dependable in our lives that provides stability for us. It can be a device we use to keep a floating object in place so it doesn’t drift away out of sight and into dangerous and turbulent seas. An anchor is an object that can be used for securing and connecting.
If you are in the grips of grief over some huge loss from your life, I ask you to do some thinking too, about anchors. If you are mourning a loved one’s death, are grieving a lost relationship, a lost dream, or even the loss of your youth, or the sad decline of your elderly parent, then this article is for you. Think about the anchors attached to you that are keeping you weighed down and miserably unhappy. It is natural for you to feel this way for some time after a loss, no matter what kind of loss, but is this the way you want to continue to live?
How can you transform the weighing down sort of anchor into the one that provides you the stability and a new way to view your life and to keep you on course? The anchoring might come from the special lessons you once learned from the person who is no longer with you, or who is, but is no longer the same as you want him or her to be. The anchoring may be from all that you have discovered about the world during your passage through times of turbulence and trials. Can you use the anchor to secure you and connect you to the love you felt for the person you lost or the hope that was in your heart before something terrible happened? Can you tie yourself to the wisdom and insights and let the pain of loss and disappointment gradually drift out to sea? Can you work on staying connected to the very best parts of your loved ones who are gone? Can you let the dreams that disappeared float away ? You will discover, gradually, that while you are anchored, watching the world sail by, schools of fledgling new dreams and new hopes are swimming closer, waiting for you to catch them.
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Iris Arenson-Fuller, CPC is a Life Stage, Family, Relationship Changes Coach. Think of Iris when you think of Big Life Changes, Hard Choices, Second Chances.
Iris helps people become become strong survivors and move from sorrow and stress to satisfaction and success.
Iris specializes in working with clients who have had losses, widows, widowers, Sandwich Generationers, and with loss issues related to the Adoption Community (Infertility, Adoptive Parents, Adoptees and Birthparents) Iris is a strong survivor herself and is a Loss to Light Expert.
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