~Submitted by: Anna Barsdley,
Australia~
I have heard grief described as a 'process', heard the words 'stages of grief'. Process
and stages are such tidy words and grief is anything but tidy or orderly; it is a mess,
much like the storm raging outside my window. A storm that buffets me at its will. Winds
that rage, then subside, only to rage again. Rain that drenches me ~ or
drizzles and drizzles until I am wet through and through.
Sometimes I can hold up an umbrella or take shelter. Other times there is no shelter, the
umbrella is torn inside out and ripped out of my hands. I am left alone and vulnerable to
the power of the storm raging around and within me.
Sometimes there are moments of sunshine and I wonder: Why is the sun shining? How
can the sun shine at a time like this? It seems almost an affront as the storm rages on
inside.
Then there are the quiet moments of resting in the shade until the next storm rises. Some
of those who watch me being ravaged by the storm say, "Get on with your life. Get out
of the rain. Why can't you smile? Why can't you be like you used to?" But the storm
is not of my doing ~ I cannot control the weather.
Some accuse me of lingering in the storm, of not trying to get away from it. But the storm
follows me wherever I go.
Then there are the precious ones who sit with me in the storm and allow some of it to rage
around them too. Somehow, though they cannot change the storm, it doesn't feel quite so
cold ~ there is a little shelter from the wind.
Often we know that a storm is brewing, there is some warning as with special days,
anniversaries, birthdays (though what can prepare us for those terrible 'firsts'?).
I can plan a little and so deflect the full power of these particular storms.
But what to do about the freak winds that rise up out of nowhere and take my breath away?
Hearing a piece of music, smells, sights, movies, meeting one of my child's friends,
married now with children ~ "Where is your life, my child? Where
are your children?" The triggers are everywhere, waiting to hurl me into the center
of yet another storm. I wonder where is the safe haven now?
Some days there is nothing ~ no rain, no wind, no sun, nothing ~ just existing in
emptiness so deep, I fear I will drown in it.
The days, weeks, months, years pass and I notice the sun, and care again that it shines.
As I face the elements of my grief, I can now allow the warmth of the sun to rest on my
skin and soothe my soul a little.
Somehow, despite myself, I learn to live with the storm, maybe even befriend it a little
~ learn to accept it as part of my life. If my child had not died I
would not be in this storm. If I didn't love my child I would not be in this storm.
I cannot change my child's death ~ I will not change my love.
~Writter by: Anna Bardsley, Mother of Leina Bardsley, 6/17/70 - 8/8/89
and Alexander Peter Bardsley,
2/5/74.~
~ Allow the angels to carry you through this storm ~
~ Relax and Be Patient ~
~ Love will see you through this storm ~
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