Loss and Laundry

I've always had a thing about laundry lines. There is something so universal about them. Human. Clothes hanging out in the sun to dry. From refugee camps in Beirut to back yards of the homes in Dublin, there are always laundry lines reminding us how much we have in common.

I love that now during this time of grief, folding laundry is a thing that is grounding. Laughable! And true.

Grief is a strange journey.

We don't have many road maps in our culture.

Many prefer to not look at it, talk about it, or address it. If that is you. I honor that. You are in great company. No need to go further!

For me? I am determined to be OPEN to this strange new life after loss. CAN I make space for it? Not Avoid it? CAN I surrender to all the emotions? CAN I flow with the millions of tiny new things that are disarming, reinforcing there is no "normalcy".... yet. That critical voice in my head can get so caught in: you're not doing this right. You SHOULD be crying less, crying more, be out DOING more, doing less, have the money things all figured out by now etc, etc.

Hmmm... what if its all ok? What if you approach this new time with kindness to yourself and a big fat dose of curiosity? What are the GIFTs of this strange new time of grief???

CAN I juggle between the contraction/expansion of staying inward/outward? (for me, the contraction is often when I am OUT with others. The expansion happens when I'm IN my sanctuary/home with lots of meditation time.... who knew?)

Like postpartum with a new baby, the first few months after loss are COMPLETELY disorienting! Time is weird. Getting through the day is spacey and foggy. Decision making is strained. For me, it all felt a bit surrealistic. Fluid. Porous. Groundless as Pema Chodren call it.

Now? Another color of the coat of many fabrics is showing up.

I am calling it the Laundry Phase. I'll explain what I mean in a bit.

The Widows all say: "its different for everyone". "Get through the first year". "It gets harder the second year". "It gets easier the second year". "I travelled a lot". "I stayed busy". "I couldn't be around people". "I didn't know how to get through my nights". "I just want more time with them". "I had to clear everything out quickly", "I can't part with his things". "I don't know who I am any more". Brutal. So painful.

My favorite: "Do you have a DOG???". Yes. Yes I do. Two of them. And how thankful I am for them EVERY DAY (and night).

After my babies were born, I so recall the important question to ask at the end of the day was NOT: "What did you do today?" Dangerous question for someone swimming the world of feeding/diapers/naps/snacks/rinse and repeat!! Anything accomplished needed to be done again. And again.

Instead: "HOW WAS YOUR DAY?"

One question focused on DOING. The other on BEING/FEELING.

I see the same is true now. What did I do? No idea. HOW was my day? I can answer that one.

And then, after the newly postpartum time morphed a bit, I found the small, tiny tasks of the day to day routine took on a new form. A new outlet.

I found folding diapers surprisingly satisfying (yes, I was one of those crazy women who used cloth diapers). I now know this was a form of MINDFULNESS for me. To take 5 minutes and do nothing else. Just FOLD THE DIAPERS. The small tasks became a form of being PRESENT. Being THANKFUL. Finding I was GRATEFUL for the moment in the midst of it all the craziness.

The diapers, morphed into moments of finding the sweetness when folding laundry in general. I would bless my children as I folded their soccer clothes.

When Gary was in what I now know were his last months to live, I KNEW it was a treat to fold the pleated pants, golf shirts, T-shirts with pictures of bikes on them saying "Retirement Plan".

Be PRESENT with what IS, Martha. Notice it. Drink in the gifts in front of me even if bitter/sweet.

And now. There are times when the swirl of emotions is tiresome. (no time line expectation but GEESH, its INTENSE to walk through these woods!) The tiny tasks are the things that bring me into the present moment. Folding the laundry. Walking the dogs. Making pots of soup. Putting on music that brings a smile.

It's these TINY day to day things that are EASY that become ANCHORS.

I wonder if this finding anchors in the tiny day to day moments is one of the gifts coming forward? Can I slow down? Notice the sweetness of having a cup of tea, a conversation with someone who can walk this wild way of grief with me. Notice the gift of giving back- bringing food to someone in the thick of chemo, supporting someone whose husband was just diagnosed with a terminal illness, taking the dogs for a walk. Folding the laundry.

It's all some circle of love. The parts that are cracked open, messy, emotional, not put together into any form are the very parts connecting us all together.

Who knew?

❤️

Martha