It’s been eight years since my mother died. While her loss weighs on my heart every day,
like millions of people who have suffered a loss, I move forward. In the looking backwards, I have come to see
that first year as something akin to being submerged underwater. I spent many days suspended, neither sinking
nor swimming. Occasionally, I’d break
the surface of the water that was my grief, survey the landscape of the shore
that was my life, and slip silently back under.
As the months passed I spent fewer days submerged and more time
surveying the shore until, one day, I found myself on solid land once
more. That suspended time kept me from
losing my mind, of that, I have no doubt. In the moments when the grief was too much
to hold or carry, that proverbial water could take the weight of it all for me.
These last few weeks I have had a feeling of Déjà vu and
couldn’t put my finger on it until recently.
That feeling of slipping silently under the surface had returned, making me wonder what was too heavy for me to carry? Yes, I have had huge transitions, and I’ve
said goodbye to my home of fifteen years.
But it wasn’t that. I don’t feel
as if I have more than I can handle right now.
All of the changes have been known, planned for and expected. I’ve been letting go of my island life for
almost a year. It’s a lot and there are days I say to myself, “Really? What
next?” but I’ve had more stress or change without this feeling. So what is it?
And then it came to me.
Slipping under the surface, getting into a quiet space deep inside isn’t
always about letting go of something.
Sometimes it is about finding something.
When I emailed a dear friend about another issue, she said
these words: "The starting line for the road to you is right in front of you.
GO!" When I read those words I knew that
my mind and heart had, once again, created respite when my life
circumstances could not. And now I know
slipping under the surface, as well as walking back to solid ground isn’t just
a grief response. It’s a survival skill.
