#25 When the Work of Grief is Done

Read the John O'Donohue poem (below) then, as quickly as possible, write. Write anything and everything that comes to you, rushes through you, enters your heart and your mind. Don't think. Just write.

I am so conflicted about grief right now that I have mixed feelings about this O'Donohue poem. It does hold some truth for me, These daze, I do wake up without agony, without crying. I can get through many daze with my tears sputtering to the surface with less frequency. I am feeling stronger, but my public persona has been untested during this long period of lock down, so it may be fooling myself.

O'Donohue writes, "when the work of grief is done, The wound of loss will heal."

Really? Why am I grieving? I am not grieving for my loss, I'm grieving for Ben's loss. Ben "lost" his life, his future, his ability to fulfill his amazing potential as a young man who had barely begun to achieve a full adult life. Ben suffered with clinical depression that clouded his vision of himself and his world. I suffer thinking about Ben's suffering and his parent's inability to save him from the depths of his despair. I am still dealing with guilt, and blame, and "what-ifs" when I trace the downward arc of Ben's decline before my eyes. I'm not sure that my work of grieving on behalf of Ben will ever be "done."

Has time already begun to "wean (my) eyes From that gap in the air" ?

Yes, time is taking Ben away from me, allowing his voice, his presence to fade out of my mind. I am beginning to center on my own life and my family's demands. I can find ways to keep myself distracted for daze at a time. I can work. I can garden. I can bake. I can bury myself in reading or writing. I can spend time (virtually) with my closest family and friends. I would say, at this five-month mark, the work of "weaning" has begun.

"your loved one Has awaited your return All the time."

Very poetic, but I am not buying it. Ben is not waiting for my return. I am waiting for Ben's return! OK, I know that my grief will lessen with time and I will "move on" emotionally somehow (unless I get trapped in PTSD and/or martyred with "complicated grief."). And, I know that the past few months of solitude have been a gift to me in my grief. But, sadly, time is going to create a "fade out" of Ben, not a poetic reunion of mother and son.

"Gradually, you will learn acquaintance With the invisible form of your departed"

Well, that IS all you get. Your memories. And you get to figure out how you want to archive your memories of a life that no longer is, but was, central to your own.

Did I find O'Donohue's poem uplifting in a meaningful way? Yes. And, no. I think I'm getting tired of focusing so much on my grief through words. I sense that there is an ineffable truth about Ben's death that I want to touch--that still seems far away for me. Maybe I will find it through silence, and not through the construct of language? Whatever. I want to keep a deep connection to the beautiful young man who shared 23 years of his life with me.

For Grief

by John O'Donohue

There are days when you wake up happy;

Again inside the fullness of life,

Until the moment breaks...

And you are thrown back Onto the black tide of loss.

Days when you have your heart back,

You are able to function well

Until in the middle of work or encounter,

Suddenly with no warning,

You are ambushed by grief.

It becomes hard to trust yourself.

All you can depend on now is that

Sorrow will remain faithful to itself.

More than you, it knows its way

And will find the right time

To pull and pull the rope of grief

Until that coiled hill of tears

Has reduced to its last drop.

Gradually, you will learn acquaintance

With the invisible form of your departed;

And when the work of grief is done,

The wound of loss will heal

And you will have learned

To wean your eyes

From that gap in the air

And be able to enter the hearth

In your soul where your loved one

Has awaited your return

All the time.