A Story of Lack and Loss

We've had a death in the family last week and my reaction to it has gotten me thinking. Me and death have a strange relationship wherein I don't view it as a goodbye or some great tragedy, but more like another way to transition to something else. This time, however, it struck a massive fear I've been moving through that had me paralyzed for a few days. Stay in bed all day, afraid to go outside and do things paralyzed. In bed I prayed, meditated, slept, read books on grief and self-help; yet there I was: terrified to move. It all came to me making myself sick and developing my very first migraine (I do not wish those on anyone). The migraine passed and I wept great tears for the loss of my family member, the loss of my way, and, finally, I began to feel better. I could get myself out of bed. I could talk to someone about how I felt... I could write about it too. 

This story I told myself while I was in bed is not new to me: the story of lack. Those shoulds and this is how it should be, all running, hiding from my feelings in the present and berating myself for not... whatever. While I am still sad about how my family member chose to end his life, the fact that I admit that I am feeling that way is a tremendous step on my part. To admit and more importantly allow myself to grieve has lifted my spirits immensely. The task of applying this same lesson towards other aspects of my life is my new and top priority in my personal development. I believe all will be well.