Grief Bites

Obviously. Of course grief bites. It sinks its sharp teeth deep into the fleshy parts of a person's being trying to chomp into the soul, as well. It's a bitch to deal with because no bandaid can fix it. There is no stitch, rod, plate, graft, or surgical procedure that can make it better. And if there is a scab (sorry to be gross) where grief latched on, it begs to be picked. It's a rabid bite--a gnarly, gashing wound that comes with an odd, unwelcome wisdom painstakingly revealed bit by bit. Or bite by bite.

These are the bites I've experienced since my mother died on June 1st at 5 am:

1. You're never ready for the loss of your mother. If you had a close, nurturing relationship where you talked every day. If you had a distant relationship and talked once a month. Or year. Or in my case, four years. You will catch your breath with the sudden realization that the person who brought you into the world has left you in it to survive without her, and it's gut-wrenching. Even at 54, I've heard myself cry in my head, "I want my mommy." And I'm pretty sure I said it out loud a couple of times, too.
   

2. People prattle off the stupidest platitudes you can imagine. "She's in a better place." "She isn't suffering." "Thank God you made up with her or you'd feel REALLY bad right now" (okay, maybe I said that last one to myself; I'm not sure. I do tend to live in my head). So, smile. And walk away. Until those people actually lose a mother, they can never know how gutted you are. They mean well. I guess. Refrain from your instinct to lash out. Repeat: refrain from your instinct to lash out.

3. Which leads me to: you may get angry. Actually, I am pretty sure most people get angry in some way, right? It's one of the famous Kubler-Ross stages of grief. I get angry lately about A LOT OF THINGS. Wasting years holding grudges. Other people asking if I'm still sad (It's been 6 weeks people! The wound is still fresh!). My Apple watch reminding me that my fitness trend has taken a sharp decline in the past two months. That one REALLY pisses me off. There should be a setting for when someone you love dies where the watch goes into empathy mode and sends messages like, "You got out of bed today; good job!" or "It's okay. Eat the piece of cake. Or the whole cake. You can do better tomorrow." It definitely shouldn't be smugly reminding you that haven't raised your heart rate above just-barely -conscious in weeks.

4. Every death since my mom died has made me spiral at least a little bit. Richard Simmons. Yep. That sucked. We used to tell my friend, Kara, she looked like him because she had the same perm he did. Did he die alone? Where has he been? Shelley Duvall. I think she was Olive Oyl in the Popeye movie. I know she was the cooped up mom with a psycho writer husband in "The Shining." She seemed to have a sad and lonely life. Dr. Ruth? Okay. I didn't spiral that much because truth be told, I thought she was already dead (I'm sorry, Dr. Ruth's family). But the mother of all spirals (pun really not intended) was Shannen Doherty. I'm still reeling. I lived for the Brenda Years. I adored her. By far my favorite 90210 "teen." She got a raw deal all around, and I've been taking her death personally like we were BFFs. I think losing someone just makes a person more vulnerable to other losses, even if they aren't specifically your own.

5. And finally, my art has...regressed? Let me put it this way instead; I've become very organized in some ways (just not with my office/studio space). All the tax stuff that I needed to organize? Done. Every picture that's every been taken and stuffed in a box? Put in a proper album or sent to others who may enjoy them. Life insurance policy and will? Done and done. Crazy abstract angry grief-inspired art? Nope. I thought I would be splashing cathartically around on a canvas, but all I can make are pretty watercolors and geometrical shapes. I think (taking a stab at self-diagnosis) that shapes and flowers are safe. Contained. Non-threatening. I'm afraid of what grief's bite will let bleed.

All of us deal with the pain of grief differently. I experience it as a wound. A piece of missing flesh. An area that will eventually scar but never go away. I also know that we all will or have lost someone we love. And as odd as this may sound, that's kind of beautiful because it reminds us that we are all connected simply by being humans. We really do have more in common than we think, and maybe if we remind ourselves of that now and again, grief's bite will be soothed by the salve of compassion allowing us to connect as we are meant to.

For now, though, I am going to eat cake, rewatch "90210" and paint flowers until I am ready to bite back. Chomp. Chomp.