Grief and Love
Happy Valentines Day???
Today is Valentine’s Day. I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day (other than eating chocolate) because it feels like a capitalistic and consumeristic expression of love. But I DO celebrate love in all the expressions and ways that shows up in my life-with the people I love, the desire for collective and personal liberation and through the wonder and awe I experience in the more than human world.
What I have learned over the years and in my work as a grief tender is that love and grief can NOT be separated. They are two sides of the same coin (or same heart?). Francis Weller says it eloquently in The Wild Edge of Sorrow:
“Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close.” Francis Weller
In a grief and death phobic culture this can feel confusing. It took me a long time to realize the ache, heart break, and sense of loss belonged and was just as valid and important as the feelings of love and connection in my heart. In fact, they were inseparable. I grieve because I love.
We live in a world that is constantly changing and impermanent.
We live in a world that is currently organized around principles of hierarchy, dominance and oppression.
OF COURSE my heart is breaking while simultaneously falling in love with my partner, children, friends, strangers, trees, kitties, the night sky and so much more.
It’s all so god damn brutiful-a word I heard Glennon Doyle use many years ago. Brutal AND beautiful.
Today this feels SO true. I couldn’t imagine writing about love, thinking about love, or BEING love in the world without talking about what is breaking my heart. And there is so much breaking my heart right now. I’m not sure there is enough space to list the loss, sorrow and holy outrage (this is also an expression of grief) I feel. It’s as vast as the ocean, as deep and dark as the night sky, and as thick and dense as fog.
From this space of the broken open heart, I sense my connection to the people, places, animals, and communities that I LOVE. So I hold on fiercely to my grief and love. Trusting the power, life force energy and vitality of BOTH.
“Our hearts are kept flexible, fluid and open to the world through this closeness with loss.” -Francis Weller
I had the honor of co-facilitating a grief circle with the Madison Death Collective this week within the incredible art exhibit Grief Wave by Jennifer Bastian at the Arts and Literature Lab in Madison, Wisconsin. Her exhibit is a powerful expression of grief and love.
I was tasked with introducing the theme and speaking about grief and love. I started to prepare by writing down and thinking really hard about what to say-referencing teachers, teachings, books and ideas I have encountered over the years. The process felt a cognitive and heady.
I paused. Listened inwards. A small voice inside said, “Speak from your heart, from your lived experience of love and loss.” I stopped my planning/thinking and went to the place I always do when I am seeking inspiration and a connection to my intuition-the forest.
I began to run on familiar trails. Places I have visited often to move my grief and love through my body-mind-heart. As I ran words, images, metaphors and emotion poured through me. I knew what I wanted to share.
It felt vulnerable, raw and a little scary. I trusted that because that’s what it feels like to be in the world with a broken open heart. This is a version of what emerged.
Grief and Love
Grief and love feels like the physical ache in my chest, the visceral feeling of my heart actually breaking because I miss my sister so much.
Grief and love are so vulnerable, like a newborn baby’s skin- delicate, sensitive, soft, porous and permeable to all that comes in contact with it. Something to be held with tenderness and care.
Grief and love is dropping to my knees in my kitchen with a gut-wrenching sob when I received the call that my sister died. I scream NO. NO. NO.
Grief and love is shock, numbness, and despair.
Grief and love is the holy outrage I feel when I see and experience the injustice and oppression in our world, it’s a fire burning bright inside me.
Grief and love is a wave, often small and lapping at my ankles gently getting my attention. Other times the wave is so immense I get knocked over before I even see it coming, pummeled by a force so strong it takes my breath away.
Grief and love is a darkness so deep, I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. I have to FEEL my way through, trusting the fertile darkness.
Grief and love are the trickster energy of the fox-playful, cunning and surprisingly joyful!?
Grief and love are wild, feral, and free. Grief and love are fierce like a mama bear protecting her cub. THIS IS MINE.
Grief and love is the sound of the loon on the lake, the whale song echoing in the ocean, and the wolf howling at the moon.
Grief and love is crying so hard for so long I’m not sure there are any more tears left. I feel wrung out.
Grief and love is learning to trust myself-my sensations, emotions and the wisdom in my body pointing me towards loss and longing.
Grief and love is watching my kids grow up and change. It’s not knowing the last time I will pick them up or hold their hand walking into school
Grief and love are complicated. It's the relief of not having to worry about a loved one anymore. It's the freedom from the burden of caregiving, It is missing and not missing someone.
Grief and love is the broken open heart. The space so VAST it can hold. it. all. Grief and love is our shared humanity. Our interconnectedness. The space where we find each other in the depths.
Happy Fucking Valentines Day from the oceanic forces of grief and love rising in my heart.
What does grief and love feel like to you?
What is “brutiful” in your life right now?
Where do you find nourishment and support when a grief wave hits?
Find out more about my grief tending offerings on my website. I offer virtual and in person (Madison, Wisconsin) offerings of all kinds.
