Uprooted in Grief

The thing about strong roots is that even in the most violent of storms, they hold on.  They stay grounded.  It is only when the tree hasn't been taken care of and storms repeatedly, year after year,  begin to weaken the roots, that they fall over.  It is like this with grief.

In my short lifetime, I have lost those that firmly planted me in love. With each loss, a wave of shock, despair, and anger racked my body to the roots. Each experience with death has brought new trauma to my already grieving soul. Death is an acquaintance that has showed up so much, I now wonder if we are friends. However, I do not welcome this friend with open arms or wish to feel it's nearness.

It is at this time of year that death stings the most. When the air become crisp and leaves lose their color and winter's whispy's fingers reach out that I am reminded of death's continuous visits over my lifetime. The loss of my Father, my son Beniah, my Grandfather, my Sister, my Grandma, my Friend, weigh heavily on my heart these last months of the year.  A coldness settles deep within my bones and it is here that I have the choice to wallow in it, to curl up and distance myself from those living or raise my fist in triumph as I shout, "death, where is your sting?"

The beginning of 2019 found me in a class surrounded by individuals who had also lost someone incredibly important to them. We all were hurting from death's final visit to our loved one and wondered if things would ever get better.  It is within the safety of these walls with people I had never met, that Papa-God spoke to the inner depths of my soul. Compassionate tears watered my dry brittle bones. Words like healed, happiness, and forgiveness fed my soul. Friendships were forged through the muck and mire.

And like an unexpected morning snowstorm where the chaos swirls around your trunk and the wind pulls at your branches, I stand strong. Rooted in the love of those who've gone before me and those who stand by me now encouraging me to grow, I refuse to wilt and wither and uproot in my grief. And while my roots will crawl even deeper into darker depths anchoring me into a firm foundation, my arms will reach towards the heavens soaking up the warmth of Hope that comes from above.