How to handle my grief allows my space to enjoy my memories again.
I write this article to bring you a glimmer of hope if you are grieving. Before we continue, I need to address the issue. Grief sucks.
That suffocating feeling when you struggle to keep your head above water. While time depends on your situation, the world keeps moving on. I’m not here to bring destructive grief into your life. Mourning the end of life, a relationship, a career, or a dream is a hard thing. The past decade has familiarized me with the heavy blanket of loss.
Now for hope. I’m here to share how helping a stranger, hearing “Love is like a butterfly,” and the ever-changing leaves helped me find the gifts hidden in grief. What does grief have to do with Dolly Parton’s songs? Usually, nothing. This morning, absolutely everything.
I was at the grocery store, hoping to grab a few things while the orthodontist adjusted my child’s braces. As I walked through the automatic doors, the 70s air conditioning and music blasted me. Grabbing a basket, I turned to acknowledge the attendant. But he wasn’t at his station.
The attendant was kneeling next to an elderly gentleman on the vitamin shelf. He was struggling to help the man to his feet. I walked over and asked if I could help. They both looked relieved and agreed.
“I’ll count to three, okay?” the attendant guided the fallen gentleman.
Each of us reached out an arm, and the gentleman was lifted. Under the feet of three men, the man was back on his feet. Thanking us both, he seemed more embarrassed than anything. He mentioned that his son was picking up medication from the pharmacy, so the attendant went to find him. Still concerned about his stability, I volunteered to stay with the gentleman. We chatted while we waited. A few times, he referred to me as “young lady.” Bless his sweet heart as silver streaks passed through my hair. When the attendant returned with the man’s son, we said our goodbyes.
Noticing the time, I hurried to gather the items on my list. As I walked through the aisles, I noticed my mood changing. Melancholy seeped in, pervasive. Shaking it off, I refocused on shopping. Collecting the items on my list, I felt tears prick at my eyes.
What is happening in the world?
In the last aisle, a song broke through my attention. “Love is like a butterfly,” played throughout the store. Suddenly, I was three years old, climbing into my parents’ bed to watch “Dolly” perform. My parents adored Dolly. Her music was the soundtrack to many family trips.
“Love is like a butterfly” always makes me smile and sing. But this time, the song connected directly to the melancholy swirling inside. A lump of sadness filled my throat, and tears might fall. This grocery store was certainly not the place to deal with these big feelings. I quickly made my way to the front, checking out my items swiftly.
I sat in the car, allowing myself to feel all the feelings. The deaths of my parents kept surfacing. After a decade-long battle with oral cancer, my father passed away. My mother died of COVID-19 during the global pandemic. I lost both parents before I turned fifty.
My parents no longer have annoying wake-up calls.
I felt a bit jealous of that gentleman’s son. Helping his father reminded me that my parents are aging. As we walked, I couldn’t reach out my arms. I wouldn’t make a fuss over them. No one was clinging to them, remembering to use a cane. Taking a deep breath, I wiped my tears and went to pick up my child.
Driving home, the explosion of vibrant autumn leaves caught my attention. They were a welcome distraction. Memories of my mother driving down the same road sparked. She lived her whole life in southern Louisiana. The fall colors in Michigan brought her endless joy. She would clasp her hands together, declaring, “Look at God’s paintbrush at work!”
“Look, God’s paintbrush,” I said aloud. First, my teenage side rolled my eyes, and then we both started to giggle. I could feel our mom around us, remembering how we used to tease her about her childhood awe of autumn leaves. For a moment, she was back with us in the car.
Helping that gentleman, Dolly Parton’s song, and the autumn leaves brought me to a place of inner grief. At first, it broke my heart with sadness. After allowing myself to feel the grief, it opened up, showing me the deep connection that forever exists between my parents and me. It reminded me that the experiences or memories of those we’ve lost can bring joy again.
A series of events reminded me that grief is the other half of love. Grief guided me to the immense love my parents had, allowing me to take a sip. We connected again, even if just for a spell. Processing my grief reminded me that love never truly disappears. It is safe in our memories. Walking through my grief, rather than resisting it, gave me the space to experience the joyful love that forever exists between us.
