Look Away

If only for a minute.

Because I spend so much time writing-talking-thinking-feeling grief, I approached November cautiously. The month begins with three family birthdays which I handle just fine, but then it’s time to prepare for Thanksgiving, which I think I’ve mentioned, is Annie’s favorite holiday. So, caution is required.

But I did okay—I didn’t melt down, stuff myself on stuffing or knock back too many Sauvignon Blancs. (I did use one of the glasses as medicinal for some annoying lumbago that showed up as the day began, but it was medicinal—it doesn’t count. And no, I didn’t have it for breakfast. It was well past “5 o’clock somewhere.”)

The day was actually wonderfully warm and easy and our table was covered with good foods and surrounded by beloved family and friends. When I got home afterwards and got all tucked in to bed, I opened up my phone and there was a picture of Annie in the form of a Facebook memory staring back at me. Of course I cried, but I also felt it was a proper coda to a day filled with love and family.

And now we head into more holidays, more memories, more caution. One of the ways I revere the grief in my life is to facilitate a Writing Through Grief writing group. One writer couldn’t make it to the recent meeting and in our emails to each other, she sent me this:

1. Bought a new sound machine- white noises and some are really soothing ocean waves. I hear them as I type this. They make my central nervous system calmer.

2. Pie! This year I have been bathing in it and just when we had it all eaten, we received more! It was better than the ones I made and now, darn it, I have to eat that too! Oh well!!

3. I started “holiday decorating lite.”
I’m following my friend’s lead and only putting out what makes me happy and calm. I’m only putting out what doesn’t trigger me. I plan on leaving much boxed and same for gifting. Simple. Lite. The hell with the insistence of it all!

4. Finishing Mel Robbins’ book “The Let Them Theory” and darn if it doesn’t lighten the tension in my neck and shoulders.

5. Hot showers. Extra soft blankets. And I’m not keeping up with news. Fuck it. What am I supposed to do anyway? The roaches are rampant and things are changed. Like all the things, I can choose to look away if I need to and that’s ok. I can read a book or write or look out the window or sit and do nothing.

I’m reminding myself to be gentle with myself and I pass along that thought.

Thank you for creating this group. I think of everyone during the week and well, wow! We are pretty amazing.

~ Kathy S, poet and writer*

I love this for all the reasons, but two things came up for me, the first one being, “yeah…just be gentle with yourself!” Tread lightly among the lights and ribbons and music and expectations. Why drag a box of ornaments down from the attic if it’s just going to make you sad? Why stick with a tradition because “it’s always been done this way” if it sends you into a grief spiral? Why make things harder than they already are? I say this all the time—we’re already grieving—do we also have to make up shit to feel bad about? And the answer of course is no. We don’t.

The other thing was that we can look away if it gets to be too much. Whether it’s the disintegration of our country, the overwhelming waves of grief, the expectations of the season. Looking away isn’t an absolute…if you look away, you can look back again. In addition, if you let your guard down, you can always pull it back up. Or, if you shut down, you can power back on. On your terms, at your pace, with your health and wellbeing in mind.

One of the writing prompts I gave to my group recently was “Give yourself something right now—a love note, a promise, a memory. Write it down now.” Because sometimes it’s really okay to just stop for a minute and do something nice for yourself.

Because I bet you’re already doing that for others, right?

Only part of our bountiful table.

(Take it easy out there…and let me know if you wrote to the prompt.)

*shared with permission