on grief: Vulnerability and moving forward

Note: I wrote these posts on November 26th and December 2nd, about 3 months after my Mom died and a couple of days before Thanksgiving. I've been sharing parts of this process on my blog, but in order to protect myself, I am sharing them several weeks or so after I wrote them. I want to be able to look back at these posts and see how I've grown...  Besides, the emotion seems less sharp and raw a couple of weeks later? Maybe? I think this is my way of gaining perspective. So, ignore scattered thoughts. Ignore poor grammar and punctuation. These words were a pure stream of emotion.

It's my goal to catch up and be "real-time" about my feelings before January 1, 2014. I want all of my previously-written posts to be published before the new year.



It's when we're most vulnerable that we learn the most.

When we're most vulnerable -- when we're the most hurt and broken, I think we are more open to the ebbs and flows, the waves of life. We roll with it because we know we can't change what's happened. We can't un-break our hearts. We aren't defensive. We absorb and we listen consciously and subconsciously.

When I'm the most vulnerable, I learn the most.

It's ok to be broken open, because maybe we're breaking through?

I can't begin to tell you how real this is for me right now.

She's been dead for nearly 3 months and I'm starting to feel like I'm going to learn something. Something huge through all of this.

And this rings true in my life because I'm wide-open. I feel like what I had been fearing... well, it's happened. And I'm still here. I'm still here standing, weeping, laughing, sobbing, breathing. And I'm consciously and subconsciously just going with the flow. My whole and complete soul is open to learning because really, what else can happen? (Sure, more could happen...) But something I was terrified of happened... and I'm still here.

I'm still here.


Then I wrote this one on December 2nd.


I'm not sure when, but I've started singing in the car again.

I remember that after she died I drove without the radio on. Or, if it was on, I didn't hear it. And I CERTAINLY didn't sing.
There was nothing to sing about.
I had no confidence that I could open my mouth and not weep.

Now, nearly 3 months later, I sing again.


I think this process is filled with little steps forward. 



--The Story of Loss. On Losing my Mom.
September 9, 2013  ::  The day I found out ::  Post here.
September 16, 2013  ::  It's One Week today  ::  Post here.
September 25, 2013  :: The Call  ::  Post here.
September 30, 2013  ::  Slivers of Sunlight  ::  Post here.
October 6, 2013  ::  That first week.Those first days :: Post here.
October 14, 2013  ::  14 days after  ::  Post here.
October 20, 2013  ::  I found a treasure  ::  Post here.
November 4, 2013  ::  She's been gone for 4 weeks  :: Post here.
November 13, 2013  ::  I smile and drive and cry and smile and cry  :: Post here.
November 17, 2013  ::  Weekends aren't easy  :: Post here.
November 26, 2013  ::  The holidays, the firsts  ::  Post here.
December 1, 2013  ::  8 weeks  ::  Post here.
December 10, 2013  ::  The Dream  ::  Post here.


1 comment:

  1. OH Friend.

    That first post. . . the one about being open. Rolling with it. Being willing to learn. Yes. Oh, yes. I get it.

    I just finished watching an interview with Pastor Rick Warren. You know? He lost his son in April. His words rang so true. They were so real. He talked about stages of grief (not loss). It resonated.

    Your words resonate.

    Thank you for sharing. . .


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