Grief Redux

 

Unbidden, it comes.  Unannounced and unexpected but with arrow-shot accuracy, unsolicited grief washes through me. Yes, through me, just like water sluices through an automatic dishwasher or a high-powered washing machine.  The problem is, I never know what precipitates the "garment of heaviness" that drapes itself around my shoulders like a well-tailored suit.  However it happens, it imprisons me once again in torpidity.  Immobility.  Impassivity. 

Actually, the vestment hangs and weighs like I imagine a knight's mail would.  It probably took forever, for a combatant to look, much less get comfortable.  Trust me: this intruder has made its entrance before; I've worn it countless times in the past.  Grief always, but always returns! Is there no balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole?

Each time this abject soul-sadness returns, its facade changes.   Grief has masqueraded as lethargy, ennui, despondency, cynicism, hopelessness, and so many more depictions.

"What's it all about Alfie
Is it just for the moment we live
What's it all about
When you sort it out, Alfie
Are we meant to take more than we give
Or are we meant to be kind?

Who knows? I know more about "the rollercoaster of grief" as it is called, than I know about accepting, fighting, or negotiating with the grim specter.  Death drives a hard bargain. I know that mourning gyrations turn me every which way but free.  The loss sinks its teeth into my heart, appendages, and spinal column.  I seem to shrink and shrivel inward.  Suffering gnaws at the edges of insanity and jousts with thoughts that range from guilt-induced rage to "who-gives-a-damn!" passivity.  A demented rollercoaster ride, right? Right.

Decades ago, Stop the World, I Want to Get Off! played on Broadway to theater-goers who seemed to relish the problems that plagued Littlechap, the main character.  While I have little or nothing in common with him, I understand he felt he'd been put on life support! No, I didn't initiate the calamity that engulfed my life after Courtney died,  yet, like Littlechap, I got ensnared in its tentacles.  

While I don't wear the shroud of victimhood comfortably or well I still feel the stealth of grief, and I mourn. Enough!. No! Enough! I must change my tune as of right now!  Now, I pray for a surcease from sorrow.  Is that asking too much? What if I want none of it? OMGoodness! The lightbulb of understanding has come on, in the twinkling of an eye, and holds a steady beam. If it's to be, it's up to me, so the old saying goes.  Yes!

I must choose what I want! I must ask Our Father for help. I must accept His goodness Then without ceasing, I must sing praises, even hymns, unto God. I gotta pray and sing and shout and rejoice, and, and, and...

"Touch me, Lord Jesus. with Thy hand of mercy;
Make each throbbing heartbeat
Feel Thy power divine

"Guide me, Jehovah,
Through this vale of sorrow;

Bear me through the current
O'er the chilly Jordan;
Lead me, dear Master,
To my home above."