Grief

holistically: emotional
and everything else

Have you seen the movie Homeward Bound? If you have, good on you. If you haven't, then I suggest you either watch it or continue under the warning that there are some spoilers. You were warned.
You were.

Remember the scene where Shadow gets stuck in that awful mud hole? He whimpers and paws frantically to get out of it while his companions try to help him, but he falls clumsily back into the mire for what seems like forever?

That's grief.

You paw and claw out of the muck and mire but you slide back down and fall on your ass. Yup. It's messy, unpredictable, but you know it's a tough mothertrucker to get out of. There is no formula, rhyme or reason.Your friends and family worry about you getting out and try wonderful and sometimes silly things to help you out. Or they're in there with you, fighting the (not so) good fight.  If they're on the outside, they'll shout suggestions, commands, encouragements, declarations of love, concern, sometimes even anger... "GET OUT!" "YOU CAN DO IT!" "KEEP TRYING!"

In case you hadn't guessed or don't know me, I'm currently grieving. I've been through this before, as many of you have, but I'm an adult this time around. The difference between then and now? Swearwords and alcohol are available (allowed).

My first dance with grief started when I was 7 years old. I've grown older since then and hopefully somewhat wiser. However, grief doesn't give a shit. It throws you into a pit and makes you feel like that scared, helpless 7 year old (except with a bottle of tequila in your grasp). The mud starts to dry up with each happy moment or memory, and you think you have enough traction to climb out. Sadness creeps in and starts to make it rain. Bye bye traction. Or maybe anger sweeps in, makes it pour, makes it rain ice pellets that you can't escape from. All you can do is sit or stand there and scream. You're not getting out today.

Then the happy memories come back... the hope. Whether or not the sun comes out, it has at least stopped raining long enough to catch your breath. You don't quite feel like "you" yet, but you don't feel like a worthless piece of shit, either.

I don't know if you remember in the movie, but Shadow makes it out. How? No idea. Some may say it got dry enough for him to climb, others may say a stick or board was there that helped him, still others may say "dog magic" or "who cares?!". The point is, he made it out (much to his family's joyous relief). Shadow survived.

Ironic name, really: Shadow. Grief does stick with you once you're out of the pit like a shadow. But I digress.

Shadow climbed out of the pit. You can climb out of grief.

Unfortunately, as this isn't the world of voice-over animals who survive amazing (impossible?) odds, there won't be a music cue or time limit on a film reel to tell you when you'll get out of the pit. The "when" isn't the point, actually. "If" is the point.

Will you make it out?

For those of you who've been through loss and grief, you clearly made it out. Even if you're still muddy years after, you made it out. So did I. Let's not analyze our performance too much, ok? Let's just give this a pass/fail. We're alive. That's a pass!

I'll climb out of this one. One day [insert emo face here]

In case you hadn't noticed, I also use humour as a coping mechanism.

Carrying on: being an adult is simultaneously helpful and maddening for dealing with grief. It's helpful in the ways I've already mentioned (larger vocabulary and access to sweet sweet scotch), but maddening in that your logic can name all the feelings you're going through and the stages of grief, but it matters ZERO PERCENT. Your feelings certainly don't give a shit. They hit, smack, kick, tickle, slap, punch, and stab you whenever they want, however they want, and for however long they want. You can name them all you want: it won't matter. They're still comin'.

This is normal. Remember that.

So what do you do to avoid grief? You don't. Sorry.

But you can do something radical once you're in the pit. Be kind to yourself. Feel the feelings. Take it hour by hour or minute by minute if you have to. Yes, the pain can be strong enough to make you want to do horrible things or numb up and waste away. Like phobias, the best way to deal with grief is to feel it and face it. It sucks. I'm not going to sugarcoat that. As for your onlookers, cheering squad, mockers, whoever: pay attention to the ones who love you and who you love. These are the ones who "get it." They likely have been through grief before, too. They don't make your pain about them or your grieving process about them. It's your ass in the pit: not theirs.

There will be those people who give you hope through it all, which will feel impossible until you feel them near. I hope you experience this if you have to go through this at all. They're earth angels. They'll be there for you no matter how messy you get. Chances are, they've been where you are. They'll let you be who you are, feel what you feel, and only interfere when you start digging yourself into a dangerous place from which you may not return.

Listen to those people.

There will be people who mean well but who don't know how to deal with other people in pain. That's their cross to bear: not yours. This doesn't make them bad or wrong; it simply means that you don't need to expend what little energy you'll have on them. That's ok.

You'll make it out. Keep going. Climb. Or just sit and bark a lot until you get bored, the music in your head swells like the ending of a movie, and you magic your way to higher ground. I won't judge. My cats are sometimes my greatest therapists, so really. I can't judge.

Good luck to you. I'm done pawing at the muddy walls for the day. Time for a break before I go at 'er again tomorrow.