Cartography of Grief
When I arrived in the land of grief, I had no map. No one handed me a guidebook explaining the roads or warning me about the treacherous terrain. One moment I was living an ordinary life, and in the next I’d crossed an invisible border into a country I’d never planned to visit.
Grief is like that. No passport required. No preparation allowed.
In the beginning, the land was confusing. I wandered through it without understanding where I was or how I’d gotten there. Although the sky looked familiar, the ground beneath my feet had completely changed. Although, over time, I began to notice something.
Grief has geography.
Traveling around this crazy country, there are valleys you fall into without warning. Quiet meadows where peace unexpectedly appears. After a time, you get better at avoid the dangerous territory that can pop up out of nowhere.
If you stay long enough as most of us do, a map forms.
My first discovery was the Hopes and Fears Railway running through the center of grief country. One minute, the train carried me forward with hope that life would be good again. The next minute, it plunged into tunnels of terrifying fear where I was certain the darkness would never end.
Scattered everywhere random Grief Landmines. A song on the radio. A familiar smell. A place we used to go. Any one of these things and hundreds more, could be the trigger. I’d be walking along on what felt like a very normal day, when a memory exploded dropping me to my knees. One of the worst landmines hid in the simple letters “VST” written in Sharpie on an old stapler. Unexpected and devastating, these landmines.
In Valley of the Unexpected, grief snuck up on me on ordinary days. I could’ve been standing in the grocery store, or watering the garden, when a wave rolled through that I never saw coming. Just as the fog rolls in on the Pacific Shoreline, it can cloud a widow’s brain in an instant.
But the map of grief isn’t made only of hard places.
In the beginning, Meadows of Normalcy were small and rare. I’d step into one and suddenly realize that for a few moments, I could breathe. I was simply living my life again. That shouldn’t be confused with forgetting, for that would never be possible. No, not forgetting. Just living.
Pockets of Peace appeared in quiet places like prayer, a conversation with a friend, a sunrise, or the garden in bloom. These were small clearings where my heart could rest.
I passed through a strange little island called I Don’t Care Atoll once in awhile. I understand that many travelers pass through there at some point. It’s a place where the trivial things of life lose their importance. Although there’s a certain relief in occasional visits to this little island, don’t be fooled. Care enough to pick up your ore and row your boat to get away from there.
I’d visit the Waterfall of Tears whenever I needed to, as no traveler avoids it. Tears, like rain, have a way of washing the dust from the road. They can be good medicine for a broken heart.
After almost six years of travel through this strange land, I’ve learned something important.
Grief isn’t a place you pass through quickly, but a landscape you learn to navigate. Over time, you discover where the difficult roads lie and where the gentle ones begin. You learn where the cliffs are and where the meadows grow. The map becomes clearer. Eventually you realize that even in the country of grief, life continues.
There are gardens to plant. Friends to meet. Sunrises to watch. Dogs to walk. Stories to write. A new husband to cherish. A winter that WILL pass.
The traveler who once arrived lost now carries a map. Although not perfect, it’s enough to keep going. On these, the very best days of my future, the road is full of adventures and beauty just ahead and around the bend. Keep traveling through life. If not now, WHEN?
