Death is an inevitable part of the human experience, but that loss leaves us with so much pain that it can be difficult to cope when we are grieving. We can become overwhelmed by our grief and find ourselves zoning out or breaking down when we least expect it. When we are in our grief process, our task is to honor our loved ones and create our new normal.
Understanding loss and the empty rooom
The metaphor of the ’empty room’ captures the essence of loss for many. It’s the quiet space that once resonated with the laughter and presence of a loved one, now silent and still. Loss changes people, families and communities. Acknowledging this emptiness is a critical step in the grieving process. It allows us to confront our loss and start finding ways to fill this space with memories, love, and honor.
The process of creating your new life can take weeks, months, or years. Although you can be supported in your process, the journey is wholly your own. Almost two years ago, we lost my aunt suddenly, and as a family, we are still struggling to find a new rhythm.
This Thanksgiving, we prepare to break bread as a family while missing those who have gone before. We aren’t waiting until Kwanzaa to light the candle for the ancestors this year. This year, we are living and forgiving while only giving as much grace as we want to receive.
Grief and coping
We all grieve in our own way. In my office, I recommend journalling at night with a candle and a picture of your loved one. For my son, this poem was his way of coping. I hope it helps your heart heal as you remember your loved ones that have crossed over.
The Empty Room
by Jackson
Her house is steep and dark though electricity has bleak light.
A few corners blackening, the walls feel dangerous.
Scouring the void of her living space, plumb, slow, she sits there,
Spinning the silk of her sadness as she hangs it into a baffled heart.
The vanishing of her paintings on the walls blurred
within their frames. I don’t know their names.
Many of her loving friends, saw her hang them years ago.
She put them up when she moved here; she never speaks of them to me.
She never mentions the man she married and their life, together.
She sits in the corner with a blanket-white face and soulless eyes.
And now she pours us red wine in small cups.
She sips it slowly, turns it over, and says goodbye.
As if to string out the long strand of rich memories.
Taking her last breath, she lays there on the floor.
Then I knew her string that was so life has now been undone.
