Holding what brings life.

Well, okay, there was some denial. Grief doesn’t just GO AWAY. It has a half-life that seems to emerge at unexpected moments, shredding the emotions.

And it isn’t, as I’ve said, simply the loss of my mother. Although I miss her dearly, it’s the loss of identity, the loss of a community orbit, and a loss of family connection.

There have been other coinciding losses. Unremitting foot pain has changed the way I do everything from housework to recreation to gardening. Hiking and walking have been life-long loves that I haven’t been able to do in more than a year. SO FAR no one has a solution, although when I saw a podiatrist recently (a lovely man, btw), he suggested that we might break my legs to straighten things out. Ah, thanks, but no thanks.

Apparently I’ve lived with a congenital leg structure issue with no problem until I mildly sprained my ankle three and a half years ago. “It was the straw…,” the doc said. A pebble in the water. A tiny twist. Nothing dramatic, but it was.

And so, I went to the bottom of the pity pot, groveled around there a bit, wondered what was the point of anything, let go of my expectations (as much as humanly possible) and now I’m looking for ways to find life and growth and consolation in the midst of change and loss.

Sometimes we are broadsided. Losses pile up and they don’t seem so significant until you really look and realize that although you live in the same place and in the same body, all has changed.

I told a friend a few nights ago that I had always had something to look forward to, a project, a job, my photography, family visits, writing a book, getting a degree, raising my son, taking care of mom, and that now I was ambivalent and lacked motivation.

Another friend said it was like the runners who run in place at a traffic signal because they know if they stop they’ll lose momentum. She said I had lost momentum because I was forced to stop. A stop sign in my face. No more taking care of mom. You’re fired. Okay, the job was wearing me out and it was time. But then, I couldn’t hike or walk, two activities that have always brought joy and consolation. Gardening is a struggle. Going to Costco has brought me to tears. Accepting photography jobs is a catch-22 because I’m on my feet.

But there’s simply no giving up. It’s not allowed. People with much worse going on in their lives don’t give up. They heal, are made whole, by a force of will, by God’s will, by seeing and allowing the good, and by recognizing and holding what brings life.