So take a good look at my face,Smokey Robinson
You’ll see my smile looks out of place, If you look closer, it’s easy to trace, The tracks of my tears
Recently I have been on the receiving end of news and events that will change other peoples lives forever. And this is the devastating type of news.
And from my distance, as an observer looking on. I realise that the tears, fears, sorrow, pain, compassion are not completely my own. The tears that I feel, are not fully mine. I do not own them. And these responses are my compassion and love latching on to news and changes that I cannot even begin to imagine.
When I step out of my own emotional state; I do not know, will not know, cannot know what it is really like to experience someone else’s life, as it shifts and changes.
And my first thought always goes to Buddha; attachment is the source of all pain.
The small tangled strings that connect us all together. Our family, loved ones, friends, acquaintances, people we know.
The opposite end of benevolent love is a massive hole of never ending grief. The elephant that is always in the room. The sign that our emotional state for attachment is so great and big like the oceans and seas, the stars and the universe. That I, you, we will never truly recover from loss or the threat of loss.
It is a reality that we will all face. It is the most powerful state of emotion.
Part and parcel of growing up, of shedding innocence, of becoming aged and wiser. Is the process of loss and grief. At some point I reached a tipping point. Where all the love for the people around me was tipped on it’s head.
Grief is the price we pay for love. At some point people started to disappear from my life. Encountering grief and loss for the first time, from the perspective of others is a transformative emotional process.
How deep, long, wide, tall a relationship is, is measured in tears, sorrow, pain at the end of it. In that uncomfortable feeling in the throat. In the collapse of the body. In denial that something, someone one, some feeling is gone.
Part of growing up is helping others manage this process of love. It is bringing to life all the best of a person. All the brilliant memories. The best edit. Their impact.
There isn’t a lot of training for this. We don’t grow up knowing how to deal with the grief of others, what it will be like, what it is actually like or how that process is different for different for relationships, reasons, attachments, emotional strings.
There is never a right way to process. There is not a single way to live through the grief.
All I have seen when someone looses someone is the devastating emptiness that it leaves behind. A witness to the floor being swept under someone’s feet as they fall into the never ending out of grief.
The wild drinking. The tears. The inability to look at photos, memories, coffin, hearse. Sometimes the ability to accept what once was was, means total avoidance to the world or reality, is the chosen path for a person experiencing grief.
The wild, animalistic cries of grief in front of the church. The raw powerful emotion shaking the air.
No grief is the same. And no love is ever the same.
Throughout the process of grief, everybody hurts and there is no choice but to hold on. And feel that process as a process of the greatest love you hold. The highest form of self.