Spring days lengthen ever so slowly from snow laden flowers toward the event known as the summer solstice. This year it occurs today, June 21. This solstice officially marks the longest day of daylight in the Northern hemisphere. And we love summer here: outdoor activities, family vacations, swimming, biking, hiking and simply time to relax a bit.
for those of us in grief, the longest day may not be the solstice marked by science but a day marked by deep loss.
Our longest day was THAT day. THAT day we read the diagnosis, THAT day we heard of the accident, or THAT day the phone rang bearing news of a loved one’s death. THAT day the minutes seconds inched along as we wrestled to grasp the truth, reality, and implications of what we heard or witnessed. THAT long day we mark in our emotional calendars as “before” and “after.” Before THAT day we lived our lives as any other day. But after THAT day . . . nothing was the same.
Some of us are still reeling from THAT day. Still carrying a 14,000 pound African elephant on our chest. Still trying to wake up from the nightmare only to have blasts of grief hit us over and over again. Still in the midst of swirling thoughts and fears of how this is all going to play out. Tenderly, THAT day our bodies went into shock, emotionally cushioning the pain while our minds fought the onslaught of unanswered, and maybe unanswerable, questions.
THAT day stopped us in our tracks. We could not escape, ignore the facts, or speed up time. Not an option. That long day was one to feel our feelings, hold others close, sit in silence as no words were remotely adequate.
Others reading this blog are a few weeks or months out from the initial shock. My clients are often surprised by deep pain a month or two after THAT day. The insulation of shock wanes giving way to a new reality. Things are not necessarily harder per se but the loss feels different. It’s as though our center of gravity has shifted and we can’t walk straight. We have to make constant adjustments.
Perhaps our grief is similar to the summer solstice. Though the solstice marks the height of the sun, the intense heat of summer comes a few weeks later as oceans and land take time to warm up. This is known as the “lag of the seasons.” We may experience some “lag” in our grief journey as well. The rippling impact of our longest day may be felt acutely a few months out.
Wherever we are in relation to our longest day, we can engage with our grief, feel it, honor it. So many symptoms of grief are trying to encourage us to slow down, pause, take inventory of our lives and perhaps even make changes no matter how small.
You may feel your grief is overwhelming and that focusing on it will only make matters worse. I've found the opposite to be true. While running from pain is tempting, tending to your pain is what will eventually bring healing. One thing is for sure, grief will keep trying to get your attention - not to make you miserable but to invite and guide you on a path toward healing and hope.
The longest day is behind you. Now enter into the rhythm of each day unfolding.
A large rock thrown into a pond creates multiple ripples. So too our huge loss initiates ripples of additional losses. It is important for us to give language to our grief and loss. Grab a notebook and list out all the additional things you have lost as a result of your primary loss. You may be surprised by what you see on paper. Be gentle with yourself. This is a journey like no other.
Allow your longest day to help you discover or uncover what is
most important or valuable to you.
For a while you may be numb to much of life. Don’t be in a hurry. As emotions surface, try to be present and notice what is immediately around you whether people or nature. Granted, some joys will remind you of your loss while other joys may surface in light of your loss. For me, it is important to look for beauty each day, whether in a sunrise or sunset, a flower, or a child’s laugh. . . things untouched by my devastating news. Strangely, looking up into the night sky can be very grounding.
Grief is unhurried much like the unnoticed days following the solstice. Grief is not an event to “get over” or a “problem to solve” but rather a deep encounter with what it means to be human, to have loved and lost, to learn how to hold joy and sorrow in the same heart, and dare hope toward the future. Ultimately, grief wants to help us integrate our loss and be enriched by it as we take small steady steps forward to embrace life and living again.
Dana Russo is the founder of HOPE RISES, a practice offering grief care and mental health counseling. She holds three certificates in death and grief studies. Her most profound teachers remain the bereaved and those they love. www.hope-rises.com