I grew up in Norco, La., a small town west of New Orleans There was a woman in our town whose name was Miss Makabot. Most of the children in the town were afraid of her because we thought she might be a witch. She was a strange-looking figure who haunted my dreams. She wore black clunky heels, black stockings, a plain black dress, and covering her grey hair was a black bandana folded into a triangle and tied on her head. Her skin was sallow and wrinkled and I think she had a pointy nose.
google image: www.writecorner.com
When I’d see her coming down the sidewalk I’d run to the other side to avoid being anywhere near her. She never did or said anything to make anyone afraid; it was her demeanor that scared me. The darkness of her clothing and her dour expression reminded me of death.
I woke up Wednesday morning and for the first time in almost sixty years I thought about Miss Makabot. What I realized as I recalled her demeanor was that this woman was probably in mourning for a dead husband. Back in those days widows dressed in black for a year or two as a sign of grief for the loss of a loved one. Some wore black for the rest of their life, as did Miss Makabot.
That was a time when people seemed more apt to go through the grieving process, instead of around it. They took their time in grieving their loss and literally wore their sadness for all to see.
The last twelve months has brought a lot of loss into my life. I lost my home and land, which I loved, nurtured and cared for, my cat who was my constant companion for sixteen years died, some family relationships that I held dear crumbled before my eyes, and I finally took off and gave up my rose-colored glasses of idealism. These things are all gone and I had to experience the loss in my life.
My Sheba the day before she died
Being with my grief and processing it has taught me a lot. I’ve learned:
1. I have to complete the process; I cannot stop halfway and say I’m through. Unprocessed grief continues to show up and will dog me in my body, my psyche, and my relationships.
2. As I continue in the process, the more I see and feel the wellspring of joy that is bubbling within and making its way to the surface. It reminds me of a poem by Rumi:
I saw grief drinking
a cup of sorrow.
It’s sweet, isn’t it?
Grief said, you put
me out of business.
How can I sell grief
when you know it’s sweet?
google image
I have finally gotten to the place where I am tasting the sweetness of sorrow. The sweeter the taste, the easier it is to give myself fully to it. Grief is not something to ignore or deny: rather, it is the gateway to true joy in being. Not the feeling of thrills and excitement that generally accompany happiness, but joy deep in my gut.
3. Giving myself over to the grieving process is what I call dying while I’m living. I get the experience of letting go and moving into the light.
The more I allow myself the gift of grieving , the lighter my life and vision gets. As I release my losses to the wind I sense the time is drawing closer when I will shed my mourning clothes. Until then, I’m giving myself over to the process.
www.speechstarter.com
Thank you, Miss Makabot for visiting my consciousness on Wednesday morning. Sixty years later I understand that the process of grieving loss is not something to fear and to run from, but that it is necessary and good.
From The Seeker’s Guide by Elizabeth Lesser
The universe would not be complete if you were not here.“Grief is a river running through the heart. I know that if I block the way, the water dams up, builds pressure, and spills over, making me sick, or hostile, or tired. Grief turns into joy when we get out of the way, let the river flow, and wait for the water to settle and clear. It’s that simple, and that difficult, and that magical.”
You are important. Love and peace ∞ Brenda
So true. Well said.
Dear Viki. Thanks for reading, for hearing my words, and for leaving a comment.
Brenda, Thank you for this. When my father died I remember thinking it would be so much easier if I just knew what I was supposed to do. I think this needs to become a conversation people are more comfortable having. Grieving really is just another part of living. Life, it seems, would be so much simpler if we could all just agree that we are all in the same boat together. Some times are easy and some times are hard. No shame in that! – Heather
Dear Heather,
You’re so right. Some times are easy and some times are hard. Of utmost importance in my life has been to keep walking through the easy and the difficult. It is human nature to like the fun parts and want to turn off the painful issues. However, there are no options on the healing path. In order to walk all the way through we have to be willing to embrace it all.
Thank you for reading and for leaving such a thoughtful and caring comment. Hugs, Brenda
your words show such beauty in your sadness…grief….
there is no pill to fix grief, even though we live in a world that hands them out like candy…
no mask can really cover whats under the surface….your words are of pure heart language Brenda…..
I send love within those whispers to you Brenda….
I have missed your words…life has been reorganizing me lately (not just getting in the way)and I felt the pull to visit today stronger than zoning out not thinking….
Thank you….as always…you touch many hearts ….
your words hum within my thoughts….I see something I am going through in a different shade of shadow/light
Take care…
You Matter…
)0(
maryrose
Dear maryrose, Your words have touched my heart. Thank you for your loving support.
I feel I am being reorganizied also. I’ve been away from my computer by choice and have only touched on an email here and there. I’ve had few words to write and speak and even fewer to open my ears to. I”m just now, after almost a week, feeling the opening to write a little and speak. Sometimes, there just are no words to say.
I’m glad there are no pills or fixes for what ails us. As sad and painful as the healing process can be I would not trade one step of the walk for anything the world wanted to give me. Seeing the joy inherent in the sorrow is such a gift and though I still only catch glimpses of it, I carry a surety about its presence.
Love and hugs, Brenda
Good work, Brenda. AND…it was wonderful to see you a few days ago. Heart linked, yes!
Thank you my dear Rosie. It was a joy to see you and spend precious moments together. I may get back down to Lexington in Nov. or Dec. I’ll keep you posted. Love, Brenda
Oh Brenda, I can’t believe you remembered Miss Makabot!! I haven’t thought about her in probably 50 years! Your description is exactly how I remember her and I was afraid of her too. You’re right – we don’t know what her story was. I’ll have to see if I can find out
what was going on in her life at that time. The Bible says man looks
at the outward appearance but God looks at the heart. That’s what we
should always do. Great story. Love you cousin.
Phyllis
Hey Cousin,
I am as amazed as you that I thought about Miss Makabot. I woke up and there she was, right in front of my face and pulling at my consciousness. I had to remember her and thank goodness I did because I received the message about grief.
If you find out anything about her let me know. I do believe she was in mourning. Love to you. Brenda
Pingback: Good grief - Healing from divorce takes the long and winding road - Wealthy Single Mommy | Wealthy Single Mommywealthy single mommy
Thank you for the pingback. I went to your blog and read it and loved what you had to say. Thanks to your pingback you now have a new subscriber.
What a timely and wonderful post. You outlined grief and your healing process so beautifully. Thank you for reminding us that we all need to complete the healing process before we can move on into a new light.
Dear Betsy, This message seems to replay in my life many times over. I think it is easy to end the healing process before it is done so we can escape the grief. BUT, to escape the sorrow means to escape the joy so I see the wisdom in completing the process.
I appreciate your kind and supportive comment. Love, Brenda