Grief comes in waves. It ebbs and flows like the tide.
Just when you think you’ve cried your last cry, a song, photo or memory can
trigger sadness or even a waterfall of tears-- weeks, months or even years
after your loved ones have transitioned. Although I have witnessed firsthand that
life doesn’t end after the burial, I am not able to sidestep the grieving
process. It is what it is. I’ve learned to honor it, and how to nurture myself along
the way.
I began this post in September 2012 shortly after the
passing of my last living grandparent, Delight McCauley. I had planned to talk about her legacy—fond memories
of camping in the Winnebago, beauty and life lessons, and unending generosity---
and then provide tips on how to help oneself heal while moving through the
grieving experience. Then something unexpected happened. The piece would now
have a new twist. It caused me to reflect on the dinner I had with family after
the funeral.
During the meal my cousin Tomeka spoke about how she wanted
her funeral to be a celebration. She said wanted it to be like a party, where
everyone had fun and there was laughter. I chimed in and agreed with her that I would
like something out of the ordinary like that too… although I chuckled to myself,
“I don’t want folks to be too happy that I’ve died!”
A few minutes after
I’d left the restaurant, Tomeka called me on my cell phone. “Brookie, we didn’t
get to take the pictures we were supposed to,” she said. En route to see my mother in the next town, I
shrugged it off and said I’d catch up with her later. We had
taken a few shots at the cemetery and I didn’t think it was a big deal. I
returned home to Baltimore without reconnecting with her.
Almost two weeks later to the date, Tomeka’s mother called
to tell me her heart had stopped. She remained in a coma for several days
before releasing her body and returning to spirit. Clearly, at some level, if
not in her full awareness, she knew her time was near. Though challenging, at
the age of 91 my grandmother’s passing was not a shock. But a young woman in
her 30s and my Facebook buddy, my baby cousin’s passing was unforeseen.
There I sat in the same spot at work where I was when I got
news about my grandmother. After the several days of constant prayer while she
was in the coma, it was time to let go. Tears flooded my cheeks, my chest
tightened, and queasiness hit my stomach. The reactions were all too familiar. The
more I had to share the news, with the director, co-workers family and friends,
the more real it became.
You can know what you know. That
life is a continuum. That there is no ending. That your loved ones have not
become dirt and worms. But that does not stop grief, at least not for me. Some
of my ultra-religious and uber-spiritual friends focus so much on the
life-after and their loved ones being back with their Maker that they do not
acknowledge grief. I sometimes wonder if they are missing out on an opportunity
to heal and bring closure in their lives. While our loved ones have returned to
the Divine, we are left to adjust to life without them in the form we’ve always
known them in. Since their transitions, several of my ancestors have returned
to warn me and bring greetings from the other side of the veil.
Both of my grandfathers have
visited me since their so-called dying. In 2000, my maternal grandfather, Papa,
was the first member of my immediate family to pass away. In his 90s, though he
had stopped smoking years earlier, lung cancer ravished him in just a few
months.
I grieved deeply for weeks. The pain was palpable, like a
heaviness in my back. Although we lived in different states and weren’t able to
spend lots of time together, clearly we were still connected. About three weeks
later one of my best friends from college, Nikki, had come to visit from
Philly. We were hanging out at my place and I was sipping on my favorite drink of
the time, Hennessey with Rose’s Lime, and puffing on a cigar, the new trend for
young women.
I left Nikki and went into my room, drink and cigar in hand.
Suddenly, my grandfather’s image began flashing before my eyes. I blinked but
it didn’t go away. Then, something that felt like a breeze knocked the cigar
out of my hand and onto the floor. I looked over and saw that my bedroom
windows were closed. I was baffled but tipsy. When my buzz wore off, I realized
it was him. He had knocked the cigar out of my hand! I believe it was a warning
about smoking. I gave up the cigar fad that day.
About a month later I was riding in Canada riding with my
boyfriend Jerome. We were laughing, and he was playing one of my favorite songs
of the time, Maria Maria by Carlos Santana. It was the lightest I’d felt since
Poppa’s death. The flash came again. There he was, blinking before my eyes.
This time he was laughing and smiling at me. Fully sober this time, I was clear on what was
happening. I greeted him in my thoughts and told him I loved him. Two years
later, another ancestor paid a visit.
I was at a Redskin’s game with a date and some of his
friends. It was a chilly Sunday in November and I was trying my best to follow
the plays. The only thing I understood was the touchdowns. Of course, no one
was in the mood to explain anything to me, and my attention waned as I tried to
focus. Then he appeared. My paternal grandfather, Pa, began flashing before my
eyes. I blinked, wondering if I was seeing things. About a minute later, my cell phone rang. It
was my father, calling to tell me Pa had passed. He came to tell me goodbye.
To date, both grandmothers, great-grandmothers, my aunt Micky
and a Native American relative I had not met in this lifetime have come through
in spiritual readings I’ve had to give me warnings, greetings and loving
insight. And Tomeka, my Guides shared, was now a helper from the other side. It
was in her soul contract to leave at this time and in divine order. When her
picture from her old Facebook account pops up on my page periodically, I often
wonder if it’s her way of saying hello. So yes, I know about the eternality of
life. Yet and still, grief comes in waves.
And it’s all good…healthy even. I believe it’s important
that we embrace our humanity and honor the gamut of emotions that come with
our experience of being on the planet. I have learned several practices that
have helped me through mourning process. I also use them to help others around
me mourning, and the soul of the loved one:
- ·
I pray for the soul of the deceased. I pray for
ease in their transition, and for light, peace and love to their soul. I ask
for the Angels, Archangel Azrael in particular, to aid them in their journey
home.
- ·
I pray for a perfect and divine release for all
involved. When we release our departed love ones on to their greatest good,
they have an easier journey. Our loved ones want us to be joyous and peaceful.
We are also more able to connect with them when we are peaceful.
- ·
I hold myself, and/or others experiencing the
loss with compassion. It’s important to recognize that this is a sensitive
period and nurturing is important. Nothing too harsh or heavy right now should
be indulged and sleep and rest is key. Light comedies or other things that make
one laugh can be helpful. I also pray for strength and comfort.
- ·
I write. Journaling, poetry, song writing are
all ways to get your feelings out and onto paper. Though sometimes initially difficult,
writing is often a catalyst for healing and freedom. It enables us to go deeper
within ourselves, release pain and hear truth. We don’t want the pain to remain
in our cells long term.
- ·
I light candles. I usually use green (healing), white
(spirit, purity), or pink (love) for this time. I may place them on my altar (sometimes
along with their photos), or light them while I pray or meditate.
- ·
I take spiritual baths. A bath with Epsom or sea
salt helps to cleanse our energy fields while providing comfort. A lit candle
by the tub can also be soothing.
Though sadness may arise from time to time, we can have
peace in knowing that we are still surrounded by our loved ones, though they
are in a different form, in a different dimension. Then we can choose to embrace the new beginnings,
miracles and blessings in the journey before us.
