Once I’d
decided to get up in the jungle and I knew my Why – that is, to honor all of my
children as I described here – I needed really to have a goal. Mine was to gain
some perspective, to step out of this densely dark place and into a zone where
I could see a longer view of things. So for the jungle -- perhaps a horizon. And
not just a glimpse of light that could be interpreted as the sun on the
horizon, by the way. I wanted a full, unobstructed view of the sky off in the
distance in all its beauty.
Finding that
horizon would not be easy because from where I stood, there was no knowing
which direction I’d need to go. Also, I sensed deep in my core that the
darkness that I was experiencing was insulated on all sides with many more
layers of oppressive darkness. To get to a clearing, I would need to enter the
darkness then press on, layer after dreadful layer. It was the only path to
something different, something better. The thought of taking the first step was
terrifying. The thought of not taking it, though? Even worse. I had to start,
but how?
As I had in all
life experiences prior to this, I turned to any available resource to guide me.
First, I had
a therapist. Her role was (and is) to support me as I made my way in this
jungle. She does not possess the secret map to the horizon. But she does
possess skills that keep me encouraged in my quest to find it.
Next, I had
lots of books. Most of them, I’m sorry to say, were not helpful at all. To me, they
could be very discouraging. Many reminded me of this time that Tim and I ran a
10K in Central Park. We were crammed into a group of lots of other people. Nearby
was a New Yorker who ran this loop on a regular basis. He took it upon himself
to announce to his running mate, and the rest of us within earshot, what we
could expect around every corner. He’d say, Now
this hill is tough, but it’s not the toughest. The worst hill is after the
bridge. It’s killer. That’s exactly what many of the books I read did. Basically,
You think today sucks? Just wait until….
I do not need
to know that! I need to live in this moment, feel what I’m meant to feel right
now, sift through it, make as much sense of it as I can and maybe learn
something that will help me when the next challenging day arises. I can’t be in
this horrible moment and frightfully anticipating the weight of the next. Many of the books seemed to outline when I
could expect to feel the absolute worst.
Maybe some people appreciate the forewarning. I did not.
There were
some, thankfully, that offered me exactly what I needed. I’ll share titles and
explanations in upcoming posts.
Also, there
was the guidance of friends, old and new, who’ve already had to face the
jungle. What I appreciated from them was the sounding board they provided.
Traumatic loss messes with your head and a whole lot of crazy gets churned up.
With these friends, I could say my very worst thoughts and feelings out loud
and none flinched. While many of my closest friends would recoil in response to
my rawest reflections (I quickly realized, in fact, to censor my words so as
not to shock and horrify), my friends who’ve been there just nodded in
recognition. This was so reassuring.
Finally,
there were support groups. These are a mixed bag. We tried several. Like
Goldilocks, we unabashedly took a seat in the chairs provided and then on the way home would share our impressions – too horrible, too horrible….just
right! We landed in one that was a more general group, called Griefshare --
for people who have lost a loved one, not specifically a child. We found the
curriculum and the group of people we explored it with, to be just what we
needed at that time.
So time spent
in the jungle with a sense of purpose and effective resources caused a change
within me. My eyes adjusted somewhat so I could begin to distinguish nuances
within the darkness. I discovered brighter spots that I interpreted as flashes of
hope. They bolstered my determination and encouraged me to keep exploring. I
felt decently equipped and supported in my mission. I was committed to finding that horizon.
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