Hello Beloveds,
Today, I find myself reflecting deeply on an experience that is both personal and universal—grief. Recently, I faced the heart-wrenching decision of saying goodbye to my beloved 15-year-old cat Mikko. As I held her in my arms in the vet's office, watching her take her final breaths, I was reminded of how much of my life she had witnessed.
There, in that quiet room, my mind flashed back to the moment she became my companion. My ride or die.
Her Life. My Life. Our life. A beautiful journey of more than a decade plus, flashed before my eyes, like a movie. I know, so cliche. But in that moment it felt like all the moments I hadn't allowed myself to "fully" grieve SCREAMED for release.
Her passing unearthed a truth I'd been unknowingly carrying: I have never allowed myself to become fully tender and vulnerable, in the fear that it would be too much to bear.
It was almost as if her departure brought to light all the unresolved grief residing within my being.
But then something profound happened—grief didn't just surface; it flowed, processed, integrated, and resettled within me.
As her body lay still, I found a new clarity; an understanding of the emotions I'd never fully explored.
This experience led me to contemplate the complexities of grief and the cultural narratives surrounding it. Although my role as a theologian and community chaplain had and has given me a close connection with the themes of death and dying, I was unaware of how deeply influenced I was by society's discomfort with grief. It's as though our culture doesn't handle death well. (Despite having so much of it).
Maybe because we experience so much violence, it's like we are pushed to focus exclusively on life, denying the moments when our hearts break or ask us to acknowledge our suffering.
Reflecting on this hidden grief, I was struck by the lasting impact of 2020 on me. That year marked by the pandemic and its unfathomable toll of loss, isolation, and denial. In that moment, I was reminded just how much marginalized identities had been denied full expression of the grief we experienced daily.
Instead, we were all forced into a facade of resilience that, while often praised, may not be that healthy for any of us.
In all honesty, I am wrestling with acquiring the permission—whether from within or without—to not always be resilient. To surrender to the tenderness of life’s most vulnerable moments. I have no solutions or answers today, just a desire to connect and understand whether others feel similarly constrained in their grief journey. Has anyone else struggled to find permission to sit fully with the tender moments of our shared humanity?
Thank you for journeying with me through these reflections. Your presence is a gift.
Be well.
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