This painting, Kate Lee’s “Flaxen Cords,” now hangs in my bedroom. I love its symbolism and simple beauty. I’m sure over time it will come to mean different things to me, but for now it is a visual representation of moving through grief and overcoming personal trials. When I first came across the painting online the accompanying description immediately resonated with me:
“Cords have the ability to halt our growth if we allow them, or strengthen us when we overcome their bonds. They give us the chance to increase our faith, our testimony, our courage, our character, and our personal relationship with Heavenly Father and our Savior.”
I love that idea. While those dark “cords” are very present, and may be trying to pull me down, it is actually through the struggle that I can become stronger. I can choose to reach toward the light and God’s love and healing.
That struggle is very real, though, and the temptation to give in to overwhelm or hopelessness is constantly there, as is the battle against such a profound level of exhaustion and mental fog like I have never before experienced. I hadn’t realized before how very physical grief can be. Losing my husband has changed how I think, sleep, how I breathe, and it seems even how my heart beats. There are times that I physically cannot swallow, or forget how to breathe, or seem unable to make decisions or remember things. It’s not always like that, for which I’m grateful. But there are times it crashes down on me and the pain is so pronounced and tangible and sharp and crushing all at the same time that it literally takes my breath away.
I can’t speak for anyone else’s loss, or journey through grief, but already I sense that I am forever changed. Life doesn’t ever go back to the “normal” of before, even if there is always the potential for better things ahead. I recognize that I will carry this new weight with me always, to some degree, although I trust that the physical pain should soften over time. I have mixed feelings about that concept of time. I know that some healing only can come with the passage of time, and can’t be rushed. But it’s painful to think that other things, like memories, will also dull as time passes.
I want to be resilient even through grief, and to come out stronger on the other side, not merely broken and damaged like I sometimes feel. I’ve started keeping a grief journal so that hopefully I can go back and recognize the growth that has occurred over time, and that may not always be evident in the day to day. I continue to write daily in my gratitude journal, and to turn to my scriptures, and speak with my Heavenly Father through prayer, trusting that those things will help in the long run.
I hope I’m already making some progress, and not getting stuck. Thank you to those who have reached out to me to offer support, even when it has been met by frustrating (or worrying?) silence on my end. Hopefully you will be forgiving and patient with me as I have been absolutely terrible with answering texts or other messages. I really do read them, and feel of your love. Please don’t stop extending those hands of friendship – I will reach a point again where I “wake up” enough to want to be surrounded by people. I know I’m not really alone in all of this, despite how it might feel at times. I do need people. I’ll also return to the point where I can give so much more to others. I so look forward to being in that place again.