Grieving and Vulnerability
Approaching the doors to the funeral home the other day for the remembrance of the father of one of my son’s dearest friends, memories of the times I had entered that building for the people I love came flooding in. A deep breath taken before reaching for the handle to step into the thickly carpeted floors meant to mask the sound of footsteps. And yet. There is sound, there is laughter and there is life. My breathing resumed. I am not afraid of death. I have walked too closely with it for too many years, and I acknowledge the role it plays in life. It is the memories, the sorrow and loss of grieving that keep me from breathing at times.
We paid our respects and then found the young man we had come to see and to hold tightly with love. The stories shared of the memories of this man who guided his life to this point. A highly respected individual with a personality that will live on for generations. The laughter of who he was and then we moved to the stories of the boys’ childhoods and teen years. The hockey teams they played on, the remembered antics that they got up to (some I was hearing for the first time) and plans made for the next few months to get together for some shiny and a trip they are planning for spring. Because grief is not only tears and sorrow. It is laughter and the joy of life. It says, “keep living, keep going.” The stories allow us to take the best parts of those we’ve loved and keep them close.
We returned home to three dogs who were visiting - who give so much joy with their unconditional love. One is a bit of minx and rather than feeling sorrow and sadness we walked into the house to find a bit of mischief had taken place in our absence. Laughter ensued and continued for the rest of the weekend.
That girl has opened my heart to a grief long buried since childhood about a beloved best friend dog of my own. That is a story for another time perhaps. I’ve always known why I never wanted to have another dog and my children understood that. I know too why we didn’t have one when my boys were children although they dearly wished to – too committed to their sports and travel and not being home. You do not have a pet of any kind if you are not going to be home enough to spend the time with them that they deserve. This dog of my son’s has been a gift sent to remind me that healing needs to be addressed, walls need to be lowered, and pain addressed. She follows me around; she yaps at me and demands my attention. I tell her all the time “I don’t know what you want” but she does not stop trying. I’m finally understanding. Being emotionally guarded to avoid potential heartbreak means denying joy and happiness. And the opportunity to experience unconditional love. Opening yourself to vulnerability can be risky. Sometimes you need to take that deep breath and take the risk. Grieving is part of that process. It is a reminder that endings usher in new beginnings with greater knowledge of what it means to live and to love fully.
Life is a series of lessons that move us towards a graduation. I’m ready to step into vulnerability, to remove the cotton wool of protection I’ve wrapped my heart in to embrace new lessons. There won’t be a new dog for me. But there are other risks and chances to take. And I’m looking forward to my next “chat” with that sheltie.