Photo by Amy Wilton
Take Me to the River
Everything I need to know about life and loss can be found in rowing. As I row, I sit watching where I have just come from while sneaking peaks at the places I propel myself towards. Bereavement for me is like rowing minus the pretty view. In sadness and despair I look back and immerse myself into memories of my son, of us together. Holding on with all my might of those images of my past life left me with little time and low energy to deal with the one I am living. I didn't have the strength to turn and look to see just how far into my new future this grief's journey has taken me.My son's death capsized my life. Like a boat left without oars in rough water, I had nothing to balance myself with. Rocked from side to side, my early days of grief were spent working to right the boat over while struggling to get aboard. It was all about me not giving up on life, my life. Searching for something familiar along heartache's shore I longed for a place to dock, to feel a part of, to join with.
In rowing I built my physical strength in order to find my emotional strength again, the strength that will carry me through. It has taken me three years to trust in my intuition, to appreciate my accomplishments, to respect my pain, and to feel safe and right about moving ahead while still holding my gaze on my past.
"Be Still. The frog does not
Drink up
The pond in which
He lives."
Drink up
The pond in which
He lives."
Richard Bach
With rowing I learned that I needed to work with my head, the boat and the water. This opened me to my first of many lessons learned on the river:
Don't Fight The Water
I learned early on that fighting with the water usually ends up with one "winner" - the water. Working it too hard only has tired me out. The water flows and the boat does fine. I am the only one who is a wreck. Flailing arms, ranting and striking out further create imbalances and unsteadies the boat even more.Bereavement is like that too. You may reach a point with your grief where trying to find the justice in the situation or the reason for death becomes an empty search. Striking out at God and man produces no equation to make sense of it all.
Sometimes there just is no answer. Sometimes we have to flow with our grief and see where it may take us while also having the confidence in ourselves to know we will end up where we need to be.
It is in the Little Things
Little movements can take you farther than you think. As with rowing, a gentle movement of the oar still moves the boat left or right. Course corrections come easy and without a fight. Letting up on the grip of the oar relaxes the boat's place in the water.Big changes are not needed to take us through grief. Our growth and survival will be measured over the easing of grief's hold, not time's passing, less tears shed, the ticking of a clock or according to someone else's rules. Go this path at your own pace. Little steps still get you where you need to go.
Stop and Smell the Water Lilies
Part of me died the day my son died, particularly the part that didn't know how to live. So very busy with work, raising my son, and the everyday challenges of life I lost sight of what real living was all about.My son's gift to me now is an appreciation of what it takes to thrive,
to truly live and to make choices
that allow me to blossom and break free from the clutches of grief. Slowly I let nature help in my healing.
I allow the river to comfort my broken heart and the birds, ducks, fish to remind me that the world is larger than me.
Be gentle with yourself. Grief is not something to pounce on. Hammer at it with too much effort and you may crumble. Ignore it and you may prolong it. Realize that your grief is made up of more than just pain; other factors contribute to its make-up.
Occasionally you may find that someone will disappoint you with his or her response to your grief. Usually this upset comes from the familiar face and not the stranger amongst us. Our guard is down because we least expect any negativity or verbal mishaps from those closest to us. Expecting the best in everyone's behavior now may set you up for a fall.
Grief will be the hardest work you will ever do. Keeping the physical self in good shape is necessary to support the emotional and spiritual self. Make time for fitness -walk, hike, bike and of course paddle and row your way through this experience. Strengthen your body. Get into "fighting" shape. Make healthy foods choices when you can. Keep well hydrated. Take rest breaks if needed. Pushing yourself too hard will result in a different end product than the way your body may have responded to crisis before the death. There is biology to grief and it takes a toll on the physical self not just the soul. Do everything in moderation. Make Popeye proud! Eat your spinach.
Listen to the Weary Sailors
Many people have sailed the path of grief before you. They know this "river" - the shallow parts, the hazards, and warning signs. Just as you wish for others to listen to you, make a place in your heart for those who have lost a love before you. Let those who paddle a few strokes ahead of you be your support during the early days of grief. Perhaps in time and when your heart is ready you will serve as guide to another. Consider a support group. The member's can serve as your river guide but you still have to do the rowing.Push Away
Moving the boat onto the water requires leaving the dock. Pushing with too little force gets you nowhere, caught up just far enough away from the shoreline to do little good. Stuck too close but not far enough out in the water you stall. Pushing too hard may cause you to tip into the drink. Finding that right degree of pressure takes time. The water conditions, environmental factors and your efforts all contribute to traveling through the water.Be gentle with yourself. Grief is not something to pounce on. Hammer at it with too much effort and you may crumble. Ignore it and you may prolong it. Realize that your grief is made up of more than just pain; other factors contribute to its make-up.
Photo by Byron Derringer
Swans are Mean Sometimes
If you have spent anytime around waterfowl you will learn quickly that from afar they look elegant, almost regal. Gliding ever so gracefully along in the water they appear picture perfect. Get close to take a better look and that gracefulness will turn to pure attitude. Protective too of their own loved ones they will challenge anyone or thing silly enough come close. Looks are deceiving. Those elegant swans pack a mean stroke, tipping rowers from their boats with a swift pounce and for little to no reason. They do it because they can. Who would have expected so much power to come from such gentle looking creatures?Occasionally you may find that someone will disappoint you with his or her response to your grief. Usually this upset comes from the familiar face and not the stranger amongst us. Our guard is down because we least expect any negativity or verbal mishaps from those closest to us. Expecting the best in everyone's behavior now may set you up for a fall.
Eat Your Spinach Popeye
Rowing is hard work. Learning to row is even harder. Fueling and hydrating my physical body I am able to take on the challenges of both. Taking care to give my boat's engine the power to row along offers me the opportunity to stay on the water longer, to enjoy it more.Grief will be the hardest work you will ever do. Keeping the physical self in good shape is necessary to support the emotional and spiritual self. Make time for fitness -walk, hike, bike and of course paddle and row your way through this experience. Strengthen your body. Get into "fighting" shape. Make healthy foods choices when you can. Keep well hydrated. Take rest breaks if needed. Pushing yourself too hard will result in a different end product than the way your body may have responded to crisis before the death. There is biology to grief and it takes a toll on the physical self not just the soul. Do everything in moderation. Make Popeye proud! Eat your spinach.
"There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as the
imprint of an oar upon the water."
Kate Chopin