Warm Wing by Danette Relic
I’m not going to flower in with a delicate introduction. Sometimes things come up and shake everything around. Sometimes someone dies, right in the middle of our busy lives. All other losses seem to be metaphors for death.
Even when it’s a loss you are anticipating, Grief shows up like a surprise relative who has come to stay a while. Grief is suddenly at your door apologizing for the inconvenience as she steamrolls past you to set up camp on your sofa and dirty all your dishes. You are never sure how long Grief will stay. Grief might not even know. But now you have a needy house guest and everything is a little harder. Things don’t get done the way they used to. Laundry piles up. Calls go unreturned. Emails get lost. Deadlines missed…
This past week my nonna (Italian grandmother) passed away. She was 94 and lived a long amazing life. That doesn’t make losing her any easier. The more there is to love, the more there is to lose.
Enter Grief.
It’s been an intense couple of years for me. I’m quite honest about it. Ask anyone who has tried to make small talk with me in the last 18 months. Let’s just say that at first it felt like Grief showed up on my doorstep and then before I knew it I was running a bed and breakfast for Grief and a whole slew of her sad cousins; one for every loss in a season of great change. They are still here. I stopped trying to tell them apart.
So this past week, as my nonna died, I surrendered. I opened the door to Grief before she could knock.
“You might as well come in.” I said.
What’s one more?
Let me take a stand for my unexpected visitors for a moment.
First of all, I believe it is so important to make space for Grief when she shows up. Give her a nice bed and lots of fresh towels. The greater care you take of her the faster she will be back on her feet and on her way. If you try to quick fix Grief she may very well start to leave but then slip on the walk in front of your house and boom–you’ve got a lawsuit that could drag on for years and cost much more than the effort of putting out clean towels.
Don’t get me wrong, I still complain about how annoying it is to be running the Grief Bed & Breakfast, but while I complain, I also place a mint on each of their pillows.
Because really, if I draw from compassion, it is easy to see that Grief knows she is not exactly house guest of the year. She likely doesn’t want to be wandering around depending on other people and being a nuisance. She just wants to be accepted, just like the rest of us. So many people close their doors on Grief.
We do it with jokes, with productivity, with alcohol. We stuff other things into the spaces so that there is nowhere for Grief to sit. She just wants to sit for a while. She doesn’t mean to hurt anybody. It must be exhaustingly lonely to be Grief.
This week at the funeral home while we sat with Todd the funeral director to discuss arrangements, another viewing was going on down the hall. Suddenly the volume of the mourners rose like a stereo had been cranked. Wailing and screaming unlike anything I’ve heard filled the home. Todd got up and calmly closed the door, speaking diplomatically about how different cultures express grief at the viewings. He knew that this was the moment they were closing the casket for the last time, and that this was the part where the family screams, wails and even tugs on the coffin and one another.
Someone in my family said, “They have sedatives for that.”
I know. Expressions of grief are hard to witness. I also heard someone say about their spouse “He’s not good at funerals.” Meaning, he doesn’t keep a dry eye and a straight face.
Is it weird to say that I have started to fall in love with Grief? I’ve always been a sucker for the underdog. Seeing how so many people turn her away made my heart soften. I am doing my best to welcome her, and treat her with tenderness and compassion. I know at some point she’ll get bored of me and move on.
The truth is, whether we like it or not, she is the one who gets to decide when it’s time for her to go. You can try to kick her out, but she’ll find a window to climb back through. Or she’ll slip under the floorboards. Or she’ll egg your house. Trust me, just let her in. It’s so much easier in the long run.
If you are grieving a loss right now, see if you find this helpful: imagine Grief has shown up for the sole purpose of telling you a story. It’s your job to listen, that’s all. The more open you are to listening to her story, the sooner she can tell it and move on. If you keep interrupting her with over-working and other defense mechanisms, it just means she will patiently be sitting there on your sofa, waiting to read you the next chapter. Know that when her story is over, she will willingly pack up and move out. And often, she leaves little thank-you gifts behind. She can be amazingly generous when she’s been shown a little kindness.
My heart goes out to all you who are grieving right now. Be it the loss of a loved one, a home, a pet or a dream. I know that each loss is personal, and the supposed “smaller” losses can be especially painful because often they are grieved in secret.
You’re not alone. Your grief is not small.
Not only is it okay to feel this pain, it’s beautiful to feel this deeply. The more you feel the loss, the more you feel the love.
May you find comfort in the love for your Nonna. Blessings.
Thank you so much Kristina. Peace to you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. As I sit on my couch, up late on my computer, exhausted, but unable to sleep, I can not begin to tell you how bad I needed to read this right now. I have recently faced the sudden accidental death of my beloved stepmum and am treading the maze of grief, rather haphazardly. Your words have helped me to relaise that what I feel is normal, natural and continually changing. AN dthat is OK.
Thank you Danette. And love to you as you tread this path.
Cassie, I am so deeply sorry for the sudden loss of your beloved stepmum. You are not alone in that haphazard maze of grief. Though it is through sad circumstances, I am happy to have offered you some comfort on a sleepless night. My heart goes out to you and your family.
Thank you for taking the time to reach out. Wishing you great comfort and love.
Danette. This post, it’s still tearing at my heart, I think it always will. I want to print this out and always keep it close, your words make so many things better.
Love you. xo.
Oh Jenn! <3 <3 <3
in the past I tried to fight grief off with a stick…to keep her away, but she doesn’t give up, she doesn’t go away until she is ready. And because of my fight, her stay was prolonged; she had to really settle in to make her presence known. {This resonates in big ways}. thank you for the beautiful reminder! I’m sorry to hear about the loss of your Nonna….sending you peace and light (and a box of some extra delish mints to leave on griefs pillow).
Danette! I love these rare moments of meeting other Danettes. So glad my post resonated with you and your experience of grief. Thank you for the peace, the light and the yummy mints. And for taking the time to comment.
Sending you blue skies.
This is such a beautiful post, packed with compassion and insights. I have been grieving for a long time as well and a lot of your advice resonates deeply. My own response is to sit with it, make peace, let the sadness overcome me when it wants to, talk about it, and realize that there will always be days when I feel the loss and the soreness. There will also be beautiful days and I need to embrace and celebrate them without feeling guilt. “The art of losing isn’t hard to master” is one of my favorite poems, partly because it encourages the introspection and the processes of talking and writing about the grief.
Thank you again. Lovely and much-needed post.
Hello R. Thank you so much. I really hear the importance of embracing the beautiful moments during grief and not feeling guilty about celebrating these parts of life.
Thank you for the poem suggestion, I have yet to read it. It sounds like something I would enjoy. Wishing you beauty, more and more.
thanks for this, dannette. you and your nonna are in a little room in my heart: please help yourselves to hot chocolate and soft blankets.
Oh why yes, thank you. I was just thinking some hot chocolate and a warm blanket would be lovely. Though my nonna would likely have a coffee with well-toasted toast. I hope she puts it down long enough to play me a few tunes on the mandolin.
Your heart is beautiful. I love what you’ve done with the place.
Wow, girl, you make my heart M.O.V.E. Achingly beautiful, this brought me to tears. Thank you for your authenticity and your gorgeous words.
Aw Helen. Thank you very much. <3
I love your perspective. You have definitely given me a new way of thinking about grief.
Thank you Sunny.
I clicked on this from twitter. First time here. The word, “Grief” pulls me in every time. I know it’s not share-y time, but I lost my 16 year old, vibrant, wonderful niece last September unexpectedly. At least once a week, Grief sneaks into my home, throws a black bag over my head and punches me in the gut.
Thanks for this. It made me laugh and cry.
Oh Hellachella, it’s always share-y time with me.
Welcome to Roots of She. I am so sorry to hear of your vibrant niece, especially the unexpectedness of it. The shock of a sudden loss like that really rocks your core (or, punches you in the gut once a week). I’m happy to have brought you some laughter along with your tears. I wish you and your family much love as you sail through this sorrow.
Your treatise just opened up a realization for myself. I, too, have had a houseguest named Grief. I will borrow your idea of mints on her pillow and sit with her awhile. She’s been around a long time, and deserves at least that.
May you find joy in the memories of your Nonna, and the warmth of her love that still envelopes you. Many blessings to you.
Thank you Kat. May you find yourself enjoying an unexpected late night chat with your houseguest over tea. Blessings to you as well. <3
Here’s the thing about grief. It doesn’t matter who it was that you lost, it only matters how much they meant to you. I lost my wife over 4 yrs ago, and have come to learn that grief comes to visit when it wants to. I don’t necessarily welcome it, but don’t deny it’s existence. I don’t embrace it, but let it have it’s way with me, without a fight. What I have figured out is that is normal, it is ok, and it for the rest of my life, going to be a part of me, and I am perfectly ok with that. Learning to deal with it has made me a stronger, better person. It is going to be a lifelong process, and so what. I could choose to let it beat me up, but instead chose to be happy. Not as easy as it sounds, but it’s better than choosing to be miserable. It IS a choice we get to make, that’s the point of it….
Hey Gerry,
Thanks for this thoughtful comment. I am so sorry about the loss of your wife. I admire your choice to accept grief as a part of you. Your strength comes across as you describe your experience of grief with such beauty and honesty.
And yes, *choice*. That easier-said-than-done, very powerful word, choice.
A very memorable piece of writing. Thank you.
You’re very welcome. Thanks for taking the time to comment dbs.
Darling Danette,
You have offered words that validate the grief of so many losses. I think of my clients, their lives irrevocably changed by their brain injuries, and their need to be supported more holistically in their life change by grasping their grief, shaking it full on, and letting it make way for acceptance..
Xooxxx
Jenn
Yes, I can only imagine the pain you witness as you guide your clients through such a shattering experience. I often think of your warm strong presence and how glad I am that you are the person your clients come to in such a transformative time.
Holistic support, and grief for all losses. I don’t wish for anyone to require your services, but for those who do, I’m glad it’s you.
xoxox
i love this so so much, danette. i love the last part, about how grief has a story to tell, and she will wait on the couch until she can tell it to you, chapter by chapter. i’m feeling this so strongly as i ride my bike fast as can be. so happy to be on this new adventure. so undeniably mourning the loss of my home, my community, everything i knew as normal that is no longer. thank you so much for helping me to remember how badly my grief needs time & attention. she creeps in either way. so i might as well befriend her. thank you.
big love to you, darling.
rach
Sending you comfort and beauty as you ride ride ride ride ride through your dreams.
Big love all around you,
Danette
Thank you for writing this. I’m deeply sorry for your loss, and I admire your attitude toward grief. <3
You’re welcome Jessica. And thank you, for taking the time to write. <3
Danette, I am so sorry for the loss of your precious Nonna.
I loved your writing, the perspective of grief as something you actually have compasson for – well I never!
I lost my son 4 yrs ago, grief was and is a very unwelcome house guest. She doesnt visit so often now, but she never leaves – every so often she pops in again to say Hi, but now I know that and like you open the door and say, “Well you’d better come in, how have you been?”
Maureen, my heart goes out to you and your family. I’m so sorry for the loss of your son. I imagine that yes, this grief is never gone for good.
I hope that you find some small heart comforts in being the one to open the door when grief comes for her uninvited visits.
Thank you for your condolences, and for taking the time to write. <3
beautiful,Maureen that is so well put. I miss my girl so much I wish she would walk in the door and we would laugh like we used to but it is not to be
and YOU are the strong one, allowing her in, letting her have her space…to tell her stories and to allow you to feel.
this has stirred up many emotions for me but mostly my lack of compassion for grief…i’ve always been the one to try to shoo her away too soon.
i think tonight i’ll have a grieving party by myself to allow the process some completion. thanks Danette wow. i’m going to do a little healing methinks.
xoxo
Thank you gillian.
I’m so curious about what your grieving party looks like. What a beautiful gift for yourself. Your compassion for grief is already starting to glow.
Wishing you the little healing you long for, and a little beauty to ride alongside it.
<3
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you’ve been peeping into my heart and i thank you. my last 2 years have been spent hand-in-hand with grief, and sometimes i feel i write about nothing else, but grief says pick up the pen and i do, and when i do, i find grief’s hidden gifts. my chosen word for 2011 was soften, and the universe answered. my heart softened with my mother’s journey into an unexpected death, and my soul followed. grief sleeps next to me in the bed, and i make room for her – she will be here a while longer. ~~~~~ bless you as you travel your own road of loss.
Thank *you* Debi. I’m sorry it took me so long to see your comment here. I’m sorry you’ve had to, but warmed to hear how you have made room for grief next to you in the bed. I’m curious what your word for 2012 was, if you had one. Or if you continued with “soften”.
Blessings to you as well. <3
Brilliant.
Thank you Chris. <3
I write a lot about grief. I read a lot about grief. I talk a lot about grief. We’ve become good friends, grief and I. This is one of the most lovely pieces I’ve read about her. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Thank you so much Alana. <3
[...] “Welcome to the Grief Hotel”, I was intrigued by the piece. (You can read it yourself here.) The line that really hit me was when Danette referenced the long life her own grandmother had [...]
I guess that is exactly what I’m doing; Mom passed on July 5th, 2012. Just went through her things yesterday. Rough days and nights. Tears come and go; when I’m speaking I may start out fine but part way through I start tearing up and my throat closes and I mumble my way through some more words. I hear my Mom; I feel her presence, I smell her perfume, I talk to her and I cry with her; My mom has left the physical world but she hasn’t left the planet. She is with me and she will always be with me. Maybe not as often as she is right now but she will always be a part of me. I Love You Mom and I always will; and she says to me “I KNOW”.
Hey Liz,
I hope since you have left this comment that the rough days and nights have softened their edges. I appreciate so much how you describe the physical sensations of loss, and how your mom will always live on in you.
Blessings,
Danette
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