For Thor - 57 - Body Language

Grief impacts me in profound and new ways each day. I move through the moods, moments, waves, lulls, anxious buzzing, pain, sorrow and heartbreak, one at a time or in combo-paks. Sometimes sleep eludes me for weeks on end. Sometimes I can't sleep deeply enough, and I fall away from conscious thought almost before my head hits the pillow. Even as these experiences shift and push me to process emotions and thought on new levels, my physical body is paying a heavy toll. I've told you before how grief hurts, physically. But what I am learning now, is that the long-term effects of cortisol (that amazing stress hormone that is designed to keep us from being eaten by tigers) can be devastating to a whole system.

We are moving up on seven months since you died, Thor, and in that time I've done a lot of inner work. The work of processing such a profound loss is never done; the lessons come daily. But now, I am tired. I am so terribly tired. Self-care, self-love, life lines, eating right, emotional support, writing, meditation, and prayer have kept me going all this time. I still employ these tools to keep me on my feet and moving through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Even so, exhaustion, unlike any I've ever known before, greets me each morning and lingers throughout the day. It's like there is a vampire living inside of me that eats all the energy, leaves me to languish in a drained stupor.

Before you get too upset with me, I DID go to the doctor! Just like I've tuned in to listen to what my emotional and spiritual bodies are saying through all this, I am listening to my body's language, too. We are testing to see if the body has gone into acute adrenal crash mode. I experience a serious lack of resilience or reserve of energy. One stressful day puts me in bed for at least two more. I feel this keenly because I get out into the world more frequently and in richer engagements, now. Interactions with people and places often trigger my grief-stricken emotional state. I have learned that no matter how well-intentioned people are, they will do things that hurt and trigger me. It doesn't matter if they know I am grappling with grief with or haven't heard the news. Inevitably, something happens that deals me emotional body blows, and leaves me bruised and breathless. I find myself wanting or needing to tell people who don't know, since the change in me feels so profound, that surely these people see it and need an explanation. I feel anxiety when stepping into a situation with people I know and situations I used to handle with ease.  My brain is rewiring itself with new neural pathways - my personal regard of the world altered forever. Does it show? Can anyone tell I'm different? Will my fuzzy brain recall the right words at the right time? Will what I say make sense or am I really out there on the edge of reason? And all of this triggers a full-blown stress-state, which triggers more cortisol, of which the adrenals are rapidly becoming depleted. So, I feel a little bump in energy (thank you, tired but faithful adrenals) and then it's gone.

Welcome to Crash City. Population, one tired, broken-hearted mama.

I have to learn how to walk in the world again, and learn to navigate or negotiate the certain triggers. It sucks when I crash and don't have the mental energy even to make coffee. It appears that I need to slow this reentry down a bit. I have taken on too much, too fast. The body-mind are sending clear signals that I've pushed too hard.

Among several recent intense forays into the outside world, last weekend was the first time I went to Yogaville for one of the festival weekends. As the 50th Anniversary of Integral Yoga and the traditional celebration of Guru Poornima, I wanted to join in. Many people who sent their love, cards, donations and prayers from around the globe in the wake of your death had come to visit. With conscious effort, I went there to experience the weekend with this spiritual family. What I didn't expect was how draining it would be on my modest and hard-won energy reserve.

Many people want to grasp my arms and look into my eyes when they see me. They want to peer deeply to catch a glimpse of what rests behind the veneer I painted over my bleeding heart; I'm well enough to be in public. They want to ask me that most horrible question; "How are you?" It's well-intentioned but horrible. These are people who care about me and want to connect with me. They do want to know how I'm doing, but time is limited in these hallway interactions. We have an agenda to keep, other people are joining us in mere seconds, there is no time to share. How are you? I hate this question. It forces me to do one of two things, neither of which is what's wanted whenever I've managed to get out. I either have to lie and say something trite like "I'm okay-ish" or "I'm well enough" or worst of all "I'm fine." Or I have to deliver the truth, which involves me removing that veneer (the one that allows me even to be there in the first place) to reveal to them the depth of this sorrow. Either way, I end up triggered and drained. The truth is, I would love to sit with anyone of them, quietly, and share if they want to know, but they are moving at a pace that is too fast for me. It looks like they are trying to fit 25 hours of doing into 24 hours of time. I just don't shift that fast anymore.

I'm more interested in being established in a state of love that pervades everything; that flows from the navel of creation. My goal is to do only what needs to be done at any moment, with frictionless ease and efficient execution. The first thing is to restore the body to a balanced state since it is in acute crisis now. The joints and tendons hurt all the time. This skin hurts to touch. An inflammation state has become the norm. Stress hormones make weight loss nearly impossible, and this exacerbates the other problems. This is yet another aspect of grief I need to reconcile. I promise I'll work on it, Thor, with the same mindful dedication that I've applied to the emotional and spiritual bodies.

I feel you here with me, in support and holding me close. You prove your presence often, and I love it that you show up in my electronic devices! I know it was you reaching out to talk to me when my phone turned on and started playing in the middle of a Zach Brown song. The night before I felt separated from you and was super sad about that and I told you so in our pre-sleep chat. The next morning while getting ready to go, I walked by my sleeping phone which was charging on the dresser, and it just started singing "I'm gonna hold you tight. Under my wing, as long as I can." It repeated that phrase over and over in a gospel chorus. And it was just for me - from you! It's mind-blowing how, on earth, I got to be your mom taking care of you. And now you're expanded to the angel realms with super-awareness where you are taking care of all of us. You will always be a blessing to me as my son. Now you are a blessing to me as my personal angel. I hope you can stick around a while, Bubby, I still need you.

I've been saying Our Family Blessing, every day. It helps. I added the Prayer of St. Francis to my daily rituals along with singing Amazing Grace and chanting along with Snatam Kaur. It's a hodgepodge, but it works for me to keep my heart out of the ashes and my eyes on the horizon. 

I love you,
Mom