By Sherrie Ann Cassel
Punxsutawney Phil is my hero, and I’ll tell you why. He mercifully did not see his shadow self on this palindromic Ground Hog Day, and so, we can look forward to an early spring. I trust the animal kingdom, as long as I am not prey.
I’m thawing out, as it were. I’m from Southern California where a sweater is merely a suggestion during a San Diego winter. Acclimating to my first high desert winter was not easy for me. San Diego is just about as perfect as one can get. Let the sun shine.
One day of a foggy, gray sky is essential for artists, two days if you resisted its beckoning the first. Seasonal affective disorder (SAD), however, is a documented phenomenon which does nothing to assist with deep grief. I grieve; I probably will ‘til I am no longer living in this body. I just no longer mourn, you know, like when you’re at the mercy of a deep longing that consumes you.
Grief doesn’t come in a nice little package wrapped prettily with a perfectly tied bow. I’ve read an astounding number of books on grief. I’ve read academic articles on grief. I’ve explored other cultures’ grief rituals. There really is no perfect way to do grief. The infinitely many and diverse descriptions of grief all merge at a singular point: the point where it just fucking hurts.
I’m not a medical expert so I can’t tell you the physiological reasons why your body hurts when you’ve lost someone. I can tell you I ached as physically as I did psychically. I know hormonal fluctuations coupled with triggering life events can fan the fires of anguish. As a matter of fact, in the Twelve Step program(s) there is an acronym that is an effective tool in a Stepper’s kit: HALT. The letters stand for hungry, angry, lonely, and tired. Any of these emotional and physical states can cause a person in recovery to relapse. I watched it with my son over the course of 10 years.
I try to apply the same acronym when I’m faced with an important decision, or when I’m in conflict with another person, and now, tragically, I must remind myself of this helpful tool when I am hungry, angry, lonely or tired — and when grief becomes overwhelming. For me, and I speak for only myself, if I’m not vigilant about my grief process or if I don’t pay attention to my emotional landscape, I can easily get swept away into a funk of some duration. Grief was unrelenting the first year; it has become less so as the years have passed.
When I could finally catch my breath after a solid six months of meltdowns, I did, and I don’t mean this is the right way or the right length of time for anyone else, but I did wake up one day and say, “Okay. What now?” I had a revelation, one that suggested I could be healed. I’m a book nerd. I read everything I can get my hands on, and in no trending genre. I read what answers my questions about life and the universe. I was desperate for answers about my broken heart and how I could begin to heal.
I began to do research on parents who’d lost a child or children to addiction. I spoke with parents across the globe and we helped each other through some of the worst days of our lives. My research in the beginning was very specific and could not be applied to grief-at-large. Once I began to read about the different configurations of relationships one can lose to death, the frozen sea inside of [me] began to melt.
I encourage those of you who are early in your grief process to take advantage of those moments of clarity and read everything you can about grief, complicated grief, healing, and finding peace. I’ve found the best resources come from books and fellow grievers.
January was a rough month for me. I did my best to keep my chin up and bravely face the angelversary of my son’s death. I managed. I muddled. I metamorphosed. You see, we can take devastating losses and let them teach us something about ourselves. I’ve learned I’m monumentally stronger than I ever thought I could be. I’ve learned that through my devastation’ I can reach out to others and share with them how I’ve managed to get through the darkness of death’s effects and make my way to the sunrise of a new day.
Sounds simple, right? Well, for those of you who’ve been working your processes for many years, you know it’s not a simple formula that gets you from point a to point b. The journey of a thousand miles is in between those two points. I believe the first step of liberation from the anguish of grief is the most important step you’ll ever take to realign yourself with the living.
I wore dark or drab colors for the first year after my son died. I’m not sure why. I just didn’t feel very much like donning bright colors, and just so you know, my favorite color is orange. I just couldn’t rev up to wearing bright colors. I didn’t feel bright. I’m sure Freud and Jung would argue libidinal or archetypal shaping of my consciousness, but – colors just seemed disingenuous after losing my son.
Four years later…and four years of hard labor…my wardrobe color scheme has changed. I have blue hair. I have colorful frames for every day of the week, vestiges of my love for early Elton. I withdraw from the world when I am not handling my grief well – and drab is the color of the days leading up to my emotional funks. Some of us do our best grieving alone. I reach out when I know it’s what is best for me – even if my voice shakes. But for the most part, I want to be alone to do my grieving, to sob uncontrollably without someone trying to fix things.
I had an out-of-body experience for three and a half years, but in May of 2019 I woke up and I saw the bright colors of springtime. I moved to the desert and I’m able to stand in awe of our sunsets and the grandeur of the landscape. I have clumsily reentered life and reached out to make friends in our new home. Grief is a natural outgrowth of losing someone. There will be darkness for some time and there’s really no escaping it. Keep your lamp lit and see what’s in there and what it has to teach you. I’m still learning. I’m still growing. My transformation is ongoing and then one glad morning…the transformation of transformations.
The past week the sun has risen to the occasion and rescued me from SAD. I felt the warmth on my face as I spent time outside with friends. I felt the sun enliven me and give me hope that spring is near. I love the springtime. I love the signs of renewal. Renewal for a griever is a stupendous accomplishment.
When I read about Punxsutawney Phil’s momentous prediction I put on my jeans, pink t-shirt, pink glasses, and pink Doc Martens– and this blue-haired, tatted 57-year-old woman went to church hopeful for my future, where I was greeted by an older gentleman who shook my hand and said, “You just exude happiness” – and this time I wasn’t acting.
Grief to Gratitude 