Category: Grief

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Friends

What does it mean to be friends with someone? Do you have to like the same things? Do stuff together? Agree on everything?

It’s hard to imagine a time more trying on friendships than 2020. Even close family members fell apart and went separate way. Friends we maybe thought we’d have for life suddenly seem so different and we find ourselves really coming to terms with which friendships are worth the effort of maintaining.

What do you do when things are otherwise amicable but one half of the friendship decides that the other half’s views are too different? The old, it’s not you, it’s me cliche formerly often used in romantic breakup comes to mind. Which, according to how things go these days, even that is a thing of the past; unfortunately “ghosting” is more common these days, and friendships can suffer breakups just like romantic relationships. But we don’t seem to talk about this much as a society, do we?

What does it look like when friends break up? When a romance breaks up one of the big questions is who keeps the friends? When friends breakup nobody does. And how do you know when it’s time to say goodbye? Often, it happens naturally and the friends drift apart. Sometimes you have a falling out, which can be very painful. Occasionally, one half decides to break it off rather abruptly with no explanation. But, how often do we ever sit down and have a conversation about where things our going with our friendships?

What would it look like if we were more intentional about our relationships? Not just the familial ones or the romantic ones, but the ones we call friendships, too? Have you ever had a conversation with a friend when it just became obvious to one or both of you that the friendship probably couldn’t last much longer without major efforts on one or both part? And, if it comes to this point, how do you decide if it’s worth it? If it’s at this point, is it worth it?

In our throw-away society, there’s a lot of potential for missed opportunities to really grow, and even shine, on the other side of difficult conversations. Too often we end the relationship because we convince ourselves that comfort is more valuable than the growth that is experienced on the other side of discomfort.

It may be that the friendship has run its course and we have received all that we were able to from that relationship. Even when this is the case, it’s still something to grieve. Something to appreciate. It is ok to mourn the loss of a friendship, even if it was dying of natural causes, and we need to give ourselves permission to do so. Grief, when taken with a healthy dose of gratitude, serves us in letting go and having appreciation for what was, and is no longer.

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Grandma

I was close to my grandma. Growing up, my sister and cousins and I spent many long summer days on her farm. When we moved to the city and my parents were in the process of splitting up, she came in to the city and brought us out to the farm every weekend for months. Later, when I had my driver’s license and lived on my own, and she lived in town, I’d often pack up for the weekend and go out to visit Grandma. We played lots of canasta, other card games too, but mostly canasta; she was always ready to play the rubber, (that’s what we called the tie-breaker game), and so was I.

My grandma was a woman of few words, and she didn’t mince the ones she spoke either. She often had these great, quippy responses that we called “zingers.” Example:

  • Grandma’s friend: Hello Alma, how are you?
  • Grandma: I’m all right.
  • Friend: You look good.
  • Grandma: Well, good-looking people always do all right!

Grandma had a way of expressing herself without coming across judgmental; she wasn’t judgmental––unless it was all going on in her head, but I couldn’t tell. She knew a lot but never ever was a know-it-all. I think she tucked a lot away in her heart, kept her deepest thoughts just between herself and God. She was just a brilliant woman.

I don’t think I ever saw her cry; she was always jolly. But, having lost two children, both at young ages, I know she knew heartache too. Maybe she was what people would call stoic, I think she anchored herself and pulled strength from her Lord and saviour, Jesus Christ. As long as I knew her, she woke up every morning, had half a banana and some bran flakes and read her Bible. Maybe the breakfast changed, but I don’t think the Bible reading ever faltered. We sang Rock of Ages at her funeral; she had told one of us cousins that it was her favourite hymn.

My grandpa passed away, about 20 years before her, he had been ill for some time––Parkinson’s, so I know she was ready to say goodbye, maybe that’s why she didn’t cry. Maybe she did cry, later on when no one but God could see her. I don’t think she was “hiding it” so much as that was just the way she was. She laid her hand on top of his at the viewing, and I just felt like she was saying “I’ll see you when I get there.” (His headstone reads, “I will meet you in the morning.”)

It’s going on six years since she passed away. It was early in the morning on Friday, February 13, 2015. I have always liked Friday the 13th. I know some people are superstitious, but it has never felt like bad luck to me. I was fortunate to have seen her and said goodbye the afternoon before, along with two of my girls, and two of my aunts. (I say fortunate because now in 2020, lots of older people are dying alone since no one will let their family members in to see them because of this “pandemic”–– the injustice of it all is sickening.) She passed away peacefully in her sleep and we got to say “I love you” to each other before she left.

Her health had declined significantly in her last 5 years, and I think it had finally come to a point where death was a welcome relief for her. She had said to me years before that, maybe 15 years earlier or so, that she was ready whenever the Good Lord wanted to take her. Not that she wanted to die, just that she was totally at peace with it.

I have nothing but good memories of her. She taught me my first card game at just 5 or 6 years old––it was Skip-Bo, “Come here,” she said, “I’m gonna teach you a game.”

I miss her. Especially at Christmas time and other holidays. Grandma’s house was always the gathering place. Easter, Mother’s Day, Thanksgiving, her birthday, and Christmas. And anytime in between–-she always said, “sure, come on over,” anytime I called her up to see if I could come out to spend a night or two. I remember her laugh. I remember she always had this wonderfully mischievous look on her face and a smile she just couldn’t contain whenever she was trying to get away with something in a card game or a silly joke that she may have been trying to keep to herself. I remember many sunny days climbing trees at the farm, eating as many crab apples as we desired, picking kohlrabi fresh from the garden; family gatherings, and the legendary “Liverball” (maybe that’s another story for another time).

I am SO LUCKY to have had her in my life. A person like her is a game changer, for sure.

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Grief

I’m not sure exactly when I realized that grief was for more than just mourning the loss of people who are no longer in our lives. It was probably after I’d had what we, as BodyTalkers, call a Big Four Shift, (more about that in future posts). It was such a big shift in my thinking and perspective, and I had to process a really heavy sadness; I was grieving.

It was then I realized that we can grieve identities, old ways of thinking, and missed opportunities, real or perceived, (also known as regret). We grieve the loss of familiar patterns. You could even say that our physical bodies grieve the loss of the familiar chemical patterns they’ve grown used to, produced by the emotions we are used to experiencing on a regular basis*.

In its natural healthy state, grief serves a great purpose for us. It helps us to let go of attachments to what is no longer serving us. The problem is, though, that grief can be very uncomfortable and we seem to be caught up in the idea of trying to always feel happy and positive. Instead, we can learn to feel the things that are uncomfortable and know that not only is it normal, but it is actually essential to our growth. It is essential to let go of what no longer serves us.

Pureed carrots are great for babies, but can you imagine eating that forever?! It’s nice to have your parents drive you around, but it’s also nice to have the freedom to drive yourself around, too, even if the initial process of learning how to drive feels foreign and requires all your attention. These types of growth and changes are typically the kind we are motivated and excited to do.

But what about the growth and change that life expects of us? The kind that allows us to step into the destiny we came here to live? The types of growth and challenges that life nudges us into, situations that make us uncomfortable, that are even painful, sometimes gut-wrenching heart-break. The saying goes, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Some of us die a slow death, though, never being able to fully let go. A healthy processing of grief makes us stronger when we feel all the feels and then let go. I love how William Lee Rand says it: “One could even say that the purpose of life is to grow and develop.”

And, this is not something we do once. We are continually asked to let go. Life continues to challenge us. I have learned to ask, what am I needing to let go of here? What can I grow into here? There are times when I’ve been at the lowest of lows. There are still times, when I dip low. And when I realize I’m there, I also realize how alive I am, and that, even though I’m in the depths, it feels so amazing to know that I feel this way simply because I can feel, because I’m here having this experience. And then I remember that I’m learning. I’m letting go and I’m growing.

*for more about this, see the book Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza