Lens Of Grief

I realized another thing recently.  A part of that dichotomy I described before of seeing beauty and feeling pain together and they are one and the same in me, existing together with no separation. 
Everything I see is beautiful and yet everything I see, feel, and experience; I filter with a lens of grief.  Grief that is deep sorrow.  Not just deep, but so very deep and not just sorrow, but sorrow that is so deep it becomes a part of the root system from which all experiences are grown.

I don’t do it on purpose.  It just keeps happening.  I think this is what caused me to ask myself, will this ever stop hurting?  I asked because I didn’t yet realize what I was doing, and now I see it and so I will begin to understand it.

Here is my experience of filtering life through grief.  This morning as I woke, I prayed that my sons would find Him.  I prayed that they could hear Him.   I prayed that He would hold them.  He because they need a He.  They need a He because their dad is gone and that loss and sorrow is so deep in me.

I plead for someone beyond me to help them, hold them and be with them in a way I will never be able to.  The grief and desperation are so deep that I cannot function without reaching beyond myself.  In this moment I feel the exquisite joy of knowing that I can call out.

There is some powerful Entity beyond me, beyond them, beyond my grief, sorrow and sadness that saves.  At this moment I am communing with this Power and it holds me.  It is beautiful and I can only see this because of the grief I have.   I wish I could say I could see it without grief. 

I wish I could see it without grief, yet I know it is now and only visible to me in this way because of the deepness of this sorrow I feel, the reason I call out the way I do and ask for what I ask.  I go downstairs and begin to prepare myself for the morning of getting the children to school.

This experience comes every day and each day there is a different aspect of grief through which I experience getting the kids ready for school.  I see them wake and experience the grief that their father will not see them wake with me and I remember how much that hurts. 

Their little eyes heavy with a sleepy look, see me only.  I hug them awake and relish the moment.  It feels so beautiful to feel their growing body against mine.  I hug them just a little tighter because I know what it feels like to never hug someone again that you love with every ounce of your soul way I love these boys.  

I feel the intricate delicacy of the power of love.  I enjoy this more now than ever because I filter this happiness through grief, and it is sad in every moment. They eat breakfast and I feel the desperation of needing to feed them and not wanting to do such a temporary thing that will need to be done again and again, why even bother? 

But it’s not my boys who feel that way, they feel hungry.  I feel resentful that a body that continues to live, continues to need food.  It doesn’t feel joyful and indulgent to eat anymore.  It is a necessity for continuing to live that is a nuisance as I resent needing to keep my body alive through food. 

I resist it, yet my children are growing and need food.  So I prepare oatmeal and as I pour the milk I make it just the way I used to love it when I used to love to eat.  Now, through the grief of loss I experience breakfast in a new way that hurts.  Yet I smile as I remember how much I used to love oatmeal that was cooked but just slightly dry and very hot. 

Then as I poured the milk and separated the oatmeal with liquid it would cling to itself as the separation occurred while it became surrounded with liquid. The dryness was swallowed up in chunks of dry oatmeal now surrounded in milk that gave the texture of an abundance of liquid with oatmeal that was not soggy. 

It was oatmeal eating bliss.  I smile as I remember how much I loved eating it this way and I take a bite and feel that joy of eating oatmeal the way I once loved.  I eat breakfast with my kids as I filter the experience through grief.  

There are a hundred more things to do this morning before I take the kids to school and I have had thousands of thoughts around each one before 8 am that are now filtered through grief. 
I don’t do it on purpose.  It just happens and as it happens, I feel so much loss in the fullness of every experience.

I feel grief in all the happiness and joy I can find.  I feel grief in the loss of all that has been changed.  I feel grief in all the growth of all that I’ve experienced.  I feel grief in the beautiful happiness that life brings.  I feel grief in cleaning. I feel grief in making messes and in living.

I feel grief in speaking. I feel grief in every person I talk to.  I feel grief in laughter, I feel grief in tears.  I feel grief in everything that exists in my life because I feel grief in a way that I know it is now a part of who I am and because of this.  I am a person who has become filled with depth that I could not have imagined possible. 

I don’t judge it as good or bad, it just is.I can’t escape it and I keep learning from it. The lessons are as deep as the sorrow and joy that live together in the depths of the roots that continue to grow. It grows from the experiences I have that shape the life I live. It comes from who I am from it and it is all very beautiful.