My incision hurts today. More than it has in a couple of weeks. I don’t know if I’ve done something to strain it or if I’m just less numb.
I feel as though Benjamin’s death has grabbed me by the ankles, turned me upside down and shaken everything loose. Then it put me down and gave me new glasses with which to see the world. At the edge of my vision everything is foggy but right now, right here, things are clear. I see old habits more quickly. I watch the ebb and flow of my emotions and while I experience them, I am less attached to them. When my mind starts to make noise, wanting me to cry harder, to feel sorry for myself, I am often able to laugh in the midst of my tears and tell it thank you but I don’t need you to make this worse.
This grief feels like an opportunity to grow, to reach outward and dive inward, to listen to my deepest knowing and live as close to my truth as I know how. I was talking to a friend about this recently – how grief gives us permission to say no without reasons and yes without reservations. For a while now I’ve been searching for what – who? – I want to be when I grow up. For who I am. And somehow that always seems to move toward what do I want to do with my life? which morphs into what do I want to do for a living? I’ve had many jobs and the beginnings of a couple of careers but nothing, other than being a mama, has been a full throttle yes. That’s what I’m looking for. That’s what I want. I think that’s where Benjamin’s brief life and death are taking me. There have been signs lately – through the pregnancy and now, afterward – pointing me in a direction but, because it is not one of those here-now moments, it’s not clear. I have a vague sense of direction but little clarity. I don’t want to distract myself from grief with this quest. I want to use grief to go deeper and uncover what has been hidden for too long. It’s unsettling, this place that I’m living in. I wish I had answers to questions. I wish for the big reveal in a dream, or a disembodied voice to speak, or an angel to suddenly appear in front of me. I want my own deus ex machina – although I want it long before the play is to end. I want better vision.
It looks like I’m stuck with these glasses for a while. This is the shape of my new life. So I breathe, I trust, I answer questions as best I can and I listen to my heart more quickly. For now, while surfing this ocean of tears, that is all I can do.