Grief – Pt.4
Fog
Perhaps you have had this experience. It’s recently been winter where everything is stark. It’s changed to mid-spring and the trees have a new canopy of leaves, shrubs are all in bloom, color is everywhere. You are driving down the same road you routinely travel, but suddenly you are not sure where you are. The intensity of the changes in colors and appearance disorient you. Your mind needs a minute to reorient. It’s very unsettling.
Take that experience and multiply it by a thousand.
Meaningful loss puts your mind in shock. It can be the loss of a dear pet who has been a trusted companion for years, a move to an unfamiliar city, a change in employment, the death of a close friend, family member or for me a spouse. Routines that were familiar have dramatically changed. Everything looks and feels different. It is normal to need time for your brain to adjust. Thus, it seems you enter a fog. In fog, you can’t see far and you can’t focus. I live next to a mountain at a higher elevation. Some days the clouds come down. It becomes so foggy I cannot see the trees on my property, the road below me or houses across the street. I know they are there and will reappear later. It’s a good time to hunker down. To drive in a such a heavy fog is to be avoided because it is so dangerous!
Fog: I walk into a room and I don’t know why I am there. I begin to do a task, but get distracted by another task. A recipe I have made 1000 times I can’t recall how to put together. I can’t seem to recall where I put something. Did I take my pills this morning? What is that persons name, as I sort though the files in my brain trying to retrieve it. Will I ever be able to teach again? I’m I capable of making a good decision? I wonder if I will ever fully regain my mind?
The routines which have rooted us are no longer necessary, let alone available. We can lose our moorings. New routines must be forged. Focusing on things takes extreme effort.
It does get better but it takes time and then it takes more time. Some days are better than others.
I have passed this way before. I had a hysterectomy in my late 50’s and this feels very similar. I wondered then if I would ever be able to read a book again because focusing was so difficult. So were conversations of any length. I could look at the person speaking and listen, but when they left I had no idea what was said.
I do not know this to be true, but I feel like the fog is similar to PTSD. It’s a stress response that happens in the brain related to the trauma of a serious loss. The more serious the loss the more serious the fog. When a person has been seriously injured, sometimes they put them in a medically induced coma. This is so the person can heal more quickly. It sounds odd to say, but at times after serious loss, you feel like you are walking around in a bit of a comma. If you frame it that way, you understand this is part of the healing process.
The brain is in stall mode. It needs time to rest and reboot. It’s not the best time to attempt any herculean task nor to make decisions you may come to regret. I keep life as simple as possible. I am giving my brain grace. Grace to even fail me. It’s okay if some days/weeks I don’t have energy to do much at all. If I can get to work and home, eat a meal or two, that’s a victory. It’s best if I let my brain take its time, not putting too much importance on my feelings and fears that this is permanent. I can feel useless because I AM pretty useless. To rest is to stop. I stop to go forward. That’s called a “good” stop.
People are different. Men and women are different. Men generally speaking, compartmentalize things. Women, generally speaking, are more integrated. That means men are good at sorting things into boxes. They don’t think about the boxes on the shelf, only the one they are needing now. With women, something wrong in one area of life, leaks into EVERY area of life.
Some people keep so busy they don’t have time to notice loss. They let busyness distract them. They just do their best to move to what’s next. The loss will arise at another time. Others are so focused on how they feel they become paralyzed by loss.
Everyone is doing their best to discover and accommodate to the unfamiliar life that now belongs to them.
I have begun to do small things again. I’ll be teaching on Mother’s Day at my church in Wolfeboro, NH. In June I will be teaching in Spain a few times. I have a class being scheduled in Bridgewater, MA. I don’t feel stressed, rather I am breathing out. It would be nice if I can teach without any tears. It would be nice if what I say makes sense and is helpful. It would be great if people felt God’s love and encouragement at all the venues. It had better glorify my Lord. I am not expecting anything stellar. I’ll be sharing from my favorite book with a tender heart about Jesus and his love. I know the Holy Spirit will help me. I will be with people who love me. If it doesn’t work, it’s because my brain isn’t quite ready. For me, that’s okay. I feel ready to exercise again. I am taking risks. My fog is much thinner, at least for now!
In the early days of my loss, at a particularly low point, I felt the Lord tell me to go with what I had (Gideon – Judges 6:14). I responded, “All I have right now is being a widow.” He responded, “Go with that.” And I immediately thought of the widow who gave her 2 tiny coins (Luke 12:41-43). Jesus said it wasn’t the size of the gift she gave, rather it was the size of the heart that gave it. That is what he counted. Sunshine pierced my fog and deposited hope.
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