And we: spectators always, everywhere,
turned toward it all and never looking out!
Everything overfills us. We put it in order. It falls apart.
We order it again and fall apart ourselves.— Rainer Maria Rilke, A portion of the Eighth Elegy from the Duino Elegies, translation by Mark S. Burrows
This has absolutely been my world since last November… overwhelmed by everything, trying to make sense of the senseless, and everything, everywhere falling apart. And let me tell you… being immersed into profound grief when the entire world is a shite show… well, there were some moments that I wanted to crawl in a hole and pull the dirt over me and just be done with it all.
From the end of November through all of December and most of January, I barely could keep track of what day of the week it was. And most days I did not keep track at all. I was thankful for the technology that reminded me when to get out of bed, when to take medications, and when to “begin winding down” from the day.
But, somewhere in January I began to notice different things. The sky in the morning was the first thing I really noticed…. it was not really black anymore but a beautiful indigo gradient. I don’t think I ever remember noticing this phenomenon before, although I am certain it has done this for millennia. And each day, despite the unbelievable cold, I was so eager to get outside to see those early morning skies.
Something had an order and it did not require any work from myself at all. I could just be there to experience it.
And then something even more miraculous happened as February inched in… I had what I classify as a “normal” conversation with my son. We talked about everything and nothing and then more nothing. And I felt a huge worry begin to melt… I guess I did not realize that my worry for him was as overwhelming as it was, and I knew it was overwhelming… but wow… once that change happened, I realized how much of a burden that was.
And I am happy to report that I am mostly back to keeping track of the days. The world is still a shit show. Lots of things still don’t make sense. I have filled the hole in and moved past it. But I am less concerned with putting things in order that I cannot control… and as for being a spectator? Well, the shit show continues… but so do those glorious indigo skies and I am betting next week I will have some snowdrops popping up in my yard!
So happy to read this post Kat. I’ve been wondering (and worrying a bit) how your son is doing. Also wondering (and worrying a bit) about you:). Sometimes it’s a PITA to wake up in the middle of the night to pee…or just wake up, but usually I at least stand at the back bedroom window and look out. The sky is gorgeous at that time…a bit of moon light sometimes and now everything is so bright (thanks to all the snow!). Wishing you a relaxing and peaceful weekend.
I’m so glad that you and your son (and hopefully your DiL, too) are beginning to experience some “normal”. Grief is difficult enough on a personal basis but it’s overwhelming when you can’t fix things for your kids. Thanks for alerting me to the indigo gradient; maybe someday I’ll even be awake so I can see it for myself!
I’m glad to hear the load of grief is lightening. It’s so exhausting, and for a while, all you can do is carry it.
i truly hope the blessed relief you are feeling grows and grows, your grief has mirrored my own and it’s nice to read of someone starting to overcome it
Big (((Hugs))) for you all.
Sometimes it’s the little things that make the world seem right…like indigo skies and snowdrops
I am so glad you are starting to see some lifting of that heavy grief — noticing the sky is no longer black but indigo is a great metaphor. Here’s hoping that as the days past, you feel less and less weight sitting on your shoulders. I’m sure that grief will always be there, but as time passes, I hope it quietly fades to the background.
This is a really profound way of describing grief and how it overtakes us and then slowly releases us back into the world. I’m glad things are moving in that direction for you now.
Oh, Kat. It sounds like you (and maybe your son, too) are moving forward. At least a bit. And that’s the best we can hope for when grief settles in . . . being able to move forward at least sometimes. I know the ache will always be there. But it’s such a good thing when joy can be there, too. Sending my love. XO
Worrying about our adult children is so heavy because we are helpless in helping them like we could when they were children in our home. I am happy there is ‘normal’ creeping in, what a peaceful feeling that is to experience. Praying for all of you always.
Grief is such a jagged raw experience and different every time. I’m glad your skies are lightening. I’m glad you find comfort in the natural world.