By Patsy Kelly
Personally, I grit my teeth at the saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” The not-so-subtle message is, “There’s nothing so bad that something good can’t come out of it,” to which I say, “Bah humbug (or something more colorful— you fill the blanks)!”
When life gives us death, there’s nothing good to be made of the ashes or coffin. Yes, the condolence cards are comforting, but how many people really mean it when they say, “If you ever need something, call?” Call me a skeptic, but grief is a solo journey much of the time, like in the middle of the night, or on a lonesome road when suddenly the bottom falls out, or at a grandchild’s concert without our loved one beside us.
Often in grief we find ourselves standing at a precipice. The landscape behind is full of color and landmarks. Beautiful scenes are punctuated by memories and visions of past shared experiences with trails of a shared journey. Then comes the chasm. We teeter there, aware of the fullness and love behind us, propelling us forward; but no. We brace ourselves and push away, backing up from the sheer drop into — what? We can’t see the way. We can’t make out any features of what is ahead. A dense fog hovers there, masking whatever we try to identify as trail-heads or signposts. An eerie wind blows in our face, almost as a moan. No, it’s not the wind moaning. It is us, that moan is our voices, alone and afraid.
The past had beautiful sights, and more than that. It had a certainty, or at least constancy. Constancy is no more, except the constant reminder that we are alone. We stand there, poised and uncertain.
We can’t go back, as there is no ‘back’ back there. We can’t stay where we are; it is a stopover, a teetering place. We know we are meant to go on. But we can’t see how or where; and we certainly can’t see anyone who might join us.
Remember the Indiana Jones movies? Recall the one, called “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.” The intrepid Indy stands before a chasm. It is the “point of no return.“ He can’t go back and he can’t see his way forward. After moments of tormented indecision, he extends one foot. He finds a foothold hitherto unseen. It was all about perspective. Until he stepped out, he could see nothing ahead.
We grievers are there, at the point of no return. We see nothing ahead and we cannot return to the past. In some kind of hope or desperation, we reach out to others who stand where we stand, at their own brinks. We join together, and understand one another. We hold on, and find a foothold, hitherto unseen by weeping eyes.
For more information about the Grief Group, email griefgroupjax@gmail.com.
