Meditations on Grief from Inside the Body

After I wrote about the expressions of grief in the body last week, two people dear to me died within a few days. I've also been with several people this week who are experiencing grief over other losses. So I'm learning close-up even more  about what happens to our bodies when we are grieving.

A friend going through divorce is experiencing a flare-up of her fibromyalgia. Another friend is showing irritability and tiredness after having moved from independent living to a building  "with services" for seniors. I find myself moving more slowly as I mourn
the loss of my special friends. At times there is a feeling of a vacuum in my center. Last night as I reached for food, but stopped to let myself feel instead the large emptiness of loss. Everything around me seemed exceptionally quiet. I wanted to go outside and walk aimlessly in nature (icy rainfall kept me in) in search of ease
amidst all the spaciousness of the universe.

The feeling in my body is one of "missing." My eyes want to look up and see Mae's smile across the room. They can't. My ears crave the sound of her "I'm so glad you're here." Silence. I want to get out the deck of cards and answer Mae question for the thousandth time, "How many cards do I deal?" I imagine instead the deck sitting idle
in its plastic case.

Thinking of the peaceful last breath for both of my friends, I try to imagine how that last breath feels as I notice my own chest rising and falling. What if it didn't rise ever again? Then, remembering what a gift each breath is, I inhale deeply and smile.

As we prepared a celebration of Joy's life (my other friend) at the assisted living home where she was cared for with such love for the past year, we knew how awkward it often seems at these events. People come to console, but don't know what to say. They sit around waiting for a service or tribute or ceremony to begin, wondering when it will be their turn. They congregate around photos, glimpsing earlier images of a body they only knew as decrepid.

For Joy's celebration, we brought wide ribbons cut about five inches long, colored felt-tip pens, and other decorative items. We asked each person coming in to make a "Remember Joy" ribbon to pin on their blouse or shirt. I drew an ice cream cone and flowers on mine to represent two of Joy's most famous loves. Others drew a bicycle and jotted notes about her big smile and other qualities. It felt good to "do" something, to express the grief and the joyful memories in a creative way. This activity allowed us to engage more of ourselves than just speaking to share this tender time.

Then, going home afterwards, there was the vacuous feeling again. But it was sweeter somehow, as if filled with the fragrance of flowers Joy once grew. The body remembers all the experiences with Mae and Joy and others we have lost. Even when the people are gone, the body will carry these memories, and they are a comfort.