Grief and joy

Woah, this the longest I’ve gone without writing my blog, I never even realised until I logged on to start writing. Boy this grief stuff really pulls the rug from under you. This time around, with the death of a very dear lifelong friend, I’ve been paralysed but didn’t even realise I wasn’t moving. Of course I’ve been out on my bike every day, but now it feels as routine as brushing my teeth. So my legs might have been moving but I’m not sure the rest of me has. At some points I’ve felt like my breath paused too.

It seems ironic, I’m the one left behind, I’m the one that’s still alive and yet I can’t find my breath. To say I’ve felt a little wonky would be an understatement.

Grief is a universal experience and yet when we feel it, really let ourselves feel it, it’s one of the most isolating emotions. And as I write I am acutely aware that this is only my own perspective on my grief, I can’t speak for others. It is not comforting to see others grieve, even for the same loss. It’s an internal journey, a pain that cannot be lessened by sharing or saying out loud. It is jabby, prickly, razor sharp and suffocating all at once. It subsides and moves into the background and then jumps back into sharp focus. It cannot be digested in one go, it is too big. So the incremental release of it drags on and on and on. Until you pause, and remember to keep breathing.

Maybe it seems odd to hear a therapist say the pain isn’t lessened by sharing, does that mean we shouldn’t talk to someone when we are grieving? No it doesn’t mean that. There is relief in sharing how we feel but there are no shortcuts for grief. We absolutely need to talk about it because grief needs an outlet. Yes, it really is too big to get it over and done with in one big crying session. So we have to truncate our grief, let it out a little at a time. And every time we do, we have to feel the pain again. Is this tedious? Yes. Is it exhausting? Yes. Is there any way of avoiding it. Yes, of course there is, but only for a time and eventually it will come and bite you on the ass until you deal with it.

I have just completed my tenth 100km gran fondo ride this year. That’s a lot of pedalling and a lot of thinking and processing time. There are many parallels between grief and these long haul rides. I absolutely wanted to give up. It’s cold now and weather has been miserable so I left it and left it until the last day of the month. I backed myself into a corner with nowhere to go except get it done or give up on my goal for this year. The “something” inside me that would not let me give up, that’s the same something that keeps me going through grief. And to know that there will always be a beautiful sunny day in the middle of life storms.

Grief and joy can co-exist. You can, in the pain of loss, still laugh, still love even when your heart is broken. We are designed this way, otherwise grief would kill us too. Laughter and joy are pain relief for grief. You can find pleasure in the world even when a loss has left a gaping hole. That is not disloyal, that is not a betrayal of your grief feelings, that is not distasteful, that is survival. And the strength inside comes from the deep love we still feel for those who are gone because that part will never be lost, we will always carry that love inside us.

So I keep on cycling, even when I don’t feel like it, when I would rather hide from the world. I find a way to engage with the parts of the world I can tolerate when I feel raw. For me, that is seeking out nature and my bike takes me to the most incredible places. It also means gravitating towards kindness and gentleness, people who will accept where I am at in all my wobblyness. For a time, it might also mean staying away from those I find harsh and difficult or letting go of situations that I have limited capacity for. Many of my recent rides have been short or opting for the indoor bike. In times of grief I need to find a way to be kind and gentle with myself while still creating opportunities for connection with the world, other people and my cycling.