Grief, Part 1

posted in: Growing | 17

It was not my husband’s first stroke or the last stroke or any of the strokes in between that brought me to my knees. It was my disconnect. I lost my way and could not remember grief – the depth and breadth of it, the sorrow and angst and even the joy of it.

Joy and grief… Fifteen years ago I would not have put those words/thoughts together. Today, after years of disconnect, my heart sings me this rich song of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. All within this first part of Grief.

griefYes, Grief with a capital G. This is not a moment out of time. This is a dance that has become part of my movement. It is not subliminal. It is a force of nature and just as Sky Mother may cry for all her children I may grieve. I grieve.

Today as I drove down the highway a motorcycle came up on my left side. I cannot tell you what the rider, the man, looked like. I can tell you that his arms became my husband’s arms – strong, flexed, powerful. I drove down the highway with memories streaming like a video. My husband and I in moments passed and present until the fabric of time became seamless and one moment became all moments.

As the memories settled into the backdrop of the day I again heard a motorcycle come up on my left side. There were those arms. Same motorcycle, same man, same road, same world and then Grief…

At night my fingers whisper touch the lines of muscle and tendon that I read like braille. The stories sinew and muscle pull from my memory are wild, calm, fierce – my Beloved.

Today my husband holds my hand. His grip is firm, his gait steady… today. I want to freeze this moment and carry it in my pocket so when this moment is gone, and another that may be a bit less steady comes to stay, I may take out that freeze frame and look at it, refresh my memory.

Today, this moment, Grief grips me. 

As I think this I feel. I feel that terror of losing something, someone, all pacing at the base of my throat near the pulse that refuses to relax, rest, be at peace.

Here I fight the moment and the memory and the rising Grief until I am in a flood of emotion with physical manifestations of sweat, unsteady breath, headache and chest ache and fingers spreading to feel.

We are packing our belongings and moving our home once again. This time I thought we might stay in this place, in this town, and I began to put down roots. Silly things roots. They want to spread and take hold and the taproot wants to nourish all.

The taproot had remained unfurled for so long that it took a bit of coaxing to find its way to the heart of the Mother. Now I’m asking it to pull up again and move to another piece of land. 

Even the taproot needed time and space to grieve.It told me of the rich earth and the nature of its desire to stay and to shape the world here.

Disconnected and wandering I was not even sure about shaping the world.

And then the sun rose and I heard that first bird singing the song of making for the world to come awake.

Oh yes, that is what was missing, the song of making.

In my life the song of making streams from my husband’s smile. Such a small and intimate piece is that smile. The way his top lip curls and the bottom lip spreads thick and full. Such a lush landscape is my Beloved’s smile.

For five days I lost that smile. I grieved. The bathroom heard my sobs while the fan struggled to contain the whimpers and full-bellied Grief.

I cried in the corners of my home where once I held the crystal Apache tears to bless and protect. My tears have melded with those and on still nights when darkness fills the corners I hear the Grief of those who came before me mingling with my own.

So where does Grief take me now? Grief and I may walk of a morning – in the twilight before day’s making is fully formed. For a moment we walk a silver gray ribbon where ghosts are full-bodied and all possibilities play before us. Then the day awakes and the illusions I have agreed to come back into place. There is a sharp, piercing pain or sound. It is difficult to differentiate as they are one-in-the-same to me.

Today I let go of many pieces that were memory laden. It was time. And as I sit with my taproot fully extended I let the memories flow and those pieces lost or perceived lost – those I Grieve.

 

Resa Ferreira

 

Theresa McGoff Ferreira has been telling stories and sounding since she discovered that her mouth was meant for something other than holding her fingers and toes. Her quest to understand the world around her when someone could not answer her questions supported the growth of her creative interpretation of how things work. Sound is her favorite sculpting tool.

You may think you already know how the world works.

Come into Resa’s World for a few moments. See what the weaver has done to all those tangled threads we leave in the corner, in the middle, on the edge.

No one weaves quite like Resa, or you may call her Theresa. No matter… the weaving and the sound do not care what you call her. It does care what she calls you.

Come into Resa’s World…

 

Read Grief, Part Forgiveness by Resa

 

Resa broadcasts on Silver Tent Radio about How Sound Shapes Your Life. Listen to Part 8 Here

 

Back to the blog page

 

17 Responses

  1. Trish Brennan

    What a beautiful bathing in the raw emotion of the ‘real’ – through the many seasons of deep and enduring love dearest Resa. Thank you for sharing so openly so that others may feel it too.

  2. Eva

    much love to you and your beloved one Resa. Deep appreciation for you soul song exploration of grief… it is, indeed, a heart song. Deep nourishment for the taproots. xxxxxxxxxxxx

  3. Kay

    Thank you for this post, beautifully written. I know the spot has been hit when my arms have goose pimples. Love to you, your grief and Steve.

  4. Nikki-Marianna Hope

    Resa, how wonderfully you weave your words to carry us on your journey with you, we feel you grief, your pain, your joys and the suction of the tap root as you uproot yourselves from your home to begin afresh in another home. Blessings on both homes and may you and your husband find joy and deep roots in your new home. oxo

  5. Rose

    Beautiful, Resa, thank you! I love how alive you are with grief, welcoming everything, glorying in connection after disconnect.

  6. Abigail

    Fabulous. I write a little about grief on my blog.

    Such depth of feeling. Thank You! I felt it in my heart.

  7. Patricia Hensey

    Deeply touched by your raw, honest and deeply moving expression of the layers and levels of personal grief reminding me so tenderly that we are all so connected in our life experiences.
    In gratitude Resa🦋

  8. peny

    what beautiful writing, and what a beautiful love between you and Steve…

  9. Deb

    Beautiful Resa, wonderful wordsmith. Joy and grief, inseparable dimensions of Love, yes. Honouring your broken, full, whole heart and the glorious richness of your story telling 💖

  10. Patricia Ballentine

    Dearest, your words take me to that sacred space where joy and grief are profoundly intimate…with each other, and for all of us.

  11. Jools

    Resa, your vulnerability and strength, your beautiful communication from the heart is uplifting in its visceral truth. Deep bow.

  12. elaine harrison

    Thank you Resa. Such beautiful words. This moved me to tears

  13. Vanessa

    Such beautiful words and touching sentiment dear Resa. Thank you x

  14. Hilary

    Resa that is incredibly beautiful. So profound. So personal. So relevant to us all. I hear you xxx

  15. Francesca

    Whoosh! I feel like I stand, facing up, under your waterfall of words, experiencing the full-bodied torrent of grief. I love you Resa!

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