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Grief Whispers and Roars


River in fall woods


It is such a quiet, peaceful evening. The lake is shimmering with its boats gently bobbing on the surface. Three hummingbirds are claiming ownership of their feeder. They sip and chase and dive and race. Mother Bird is sitting on her nest. It’s about the size of a small teacup and she sticks out over both sides. She occasionally swoops down for her drink.


I hear the wind starting to say hello to the leaves of the trees as it is passing by. It is a gentle message, soothing. As it reaches where I am sitting, it starts to become boisterous, it starts to shout. The leaves don’t like it. They curl and turn backward. Wind doesn’t care, it shouts louder and louder and races off into the distance, leaving roaring in its path.


Some days are like that. Grief is off in the distance, then it starts to be heard. Then it becomes overwhelming, roaring into my core and turning me inside out. It is happening less frequently, but there is no weather channel to warn about incoming storms. They just sneak into my day.


Today, the music channel was playing one of our songs. “Welcome to my World” was the first song I dedicated to my spouse. As the song began, the wind roared. It seems the songwriters have experienced much of my journey and written and sang their songs . Hank Williams, “You Wrote my Life.”


Louise Penny, one of my favorite fiction writers, sends her messages of loss and recovery through her characters. She describes grieving and hopelessness and fills the vacuums of her characters created by the wind whirling through. She has created a psychologist who sends life lessons of hope and healing. Messages as gentle as the whispering wind, and messages as tough and loud as a tornado.


All around us, there is loss. Where there is a vacuum, there is the time and potential for change. What we were can no longer be. The crisis intervention question and technique, “What did you do before?” may not be applicable. We are not where we were before. I have to figure out what I can do now. I can't jump out and all of a sudden be a social person. I can’t be 15 years younger. I can’t reverse my mobility disorder.


What I can do and what is part of what I did before, is gardening. I can grow vegetables. I can share them with my neighbors who don’t have gardens, unless like in Louise Penney’s novels, the neighbors won’t answer their doors when they see more zucchini coming.


My garden will need tending, and I can initiate conversations with others around me.


My grief voice of whispering wind may gently blow me to others.


Let me know how you are doing. I care.


Sincerely,

Lynn Brooke


© 2023 Our New Chances

Photo Credit: © 2023 Rachel Gareau

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