Death as Creation: A Series on Grief, Part III

III.

I have never felt as ALONE as I do this year. This is my unwavering, gnawing Truth made present to me lately, despite my desperation to ignore it. This, despite my absolute gratitude for a partner and children to keep my home warm through a pandemic. This, despite plenty of friends and family to call and text, in theory.

My gut is nudging me to write about this, though the vulnerability of it is sickening. 

(But if i’m here for anything, it’s telling the Truth...) 

I have never felt as ALONE as I do this year. 

Perhaps, it’s the many months of shut down; perhaps, it’s the even stranger isolation of slowly coming back out. Perhaps, it’s the space allowed for grief to come to me, finally. Or all the new death, the fresh loss, like wet fall leaves, begging to be dealt with differently this time. 

Despite the relief of changes that had to be made, despite so many incredible adventures this year, despite the long list of things to be thankful for, I have never felt as alone as I do this year. (And there is so much I AM grateful for; can such a paradox be held in Truth? Grief and gratitude? Longing and love?) 

Now, more than ever, this idea of COMMUNITY feels elusive to me—and I’m opening to the idea that it always has. We can be surrounded and in solitude all at once. I would have told you I knew that before, but I’ve never known it more than I do now.

Throughout my life, this weird human wanting to BELONG has led me into dark basements full of vices and rooms full of false prophets. Into tribes that never had my back or best interest in mind, though that’s what they sold me. It’s shown me how to hide through generosity and kindness, how to give all of myself to your comfort and sacrifice my wantings. I’ve found myself nestled into connection so many times, comfy and open, only to be met with death again, as if it knows where to find me.

(Why am I always left here? Who chooses? What’s the criteria?) 

One of my dearest teachers called me a lighthouse: able to shine on my own and call others home, and it was such a warm contrast to my own view of self... 

An island. Solid and solo. Surrounded by barriers and moats. Alone. 

And who calls a lighthouse home? 
Who wraps them in golden light at night? 
Who stands steady despite the storm?
Who sounds the alarm? 
And how do we get inside?