The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of those depths. -Elizabeth Kubler Ross
Let me just put it out there. I have a ton of reasons to feel grateful, or at least 575,600 of them. I’ve very much tried to focus this journey on gratitude. One, it’s real. Two, it vibrates higher and so, with any luck, those high vibrations continue. And, three, well, it just makes me feel better than being in the muck.
But, fuck, there’s muck, some days a lot of it. And even in the beauty – friends stopping by, receiving heartfelt texts and voicemails, flowers so gorgeous I almost can pretend it’s summer – when you keep it real, the shit surfaces. And it hurts, not so much physically, thank you pharmaceutical gods, but emotionally, it sucks. There’s just no way to make it better in the moment.
Undoubtedly with journeys like this there needs to be space for the shit, those so-called stages of grief. I really thought I might be able to hopscotch over anger but, BAM, there she is. And fighting the anger is nonsense. It’s there, and it must be acknowledged, as crappy as it feels.
My wise life coach tells us to use our ABCs: Acknowledge the shit [she’s too polite to use that word, of course, but you get the drift], because we’re worthy and deserving to do so. It’s there – so don’t fight it, because whatever you resist, persists. But once acknowledged, once you can accept that it’s along for the ride, then you can Choose something else instead and head back into the higher vibrations.
So for now, I’m hanging with my A: acknowledging space for the tears that feel like they’ll never stop; space for the overnight nurse who didn’t give a damn [yes, amidst the almost-universally fabulous staff, there was one of those, and she put Attila the Hun to shame]; and space for the moments that feel like quick-sand has taken up residence in my heart.
I have little doubt that B & C are on their way back to me; after all, even gardens need manure to nurture them into bloom.
For now, though, hello anger; nice to meet you. It’s manure time for this gal.