2022 — The year I rewrote grief

I walked into 2022 angry. Furious. Suffering. I walked in begging for peace.

The first gift given to me by 2022 was Covid.

The second was watching a surprising arrival of Cancer deteriorate the body of my best boy, Huckleberry.

As Huck’s breathing shifted and he transitioned into death I was sent in a time machine back to November of 2013 where I watched my Dad’s breathing shift while he transitioned into death. From Cancer.

Fucking Cancer.

Huck’s death ripped a scab off an unopened wound of Grief.

I quickly found myself grieving Huck, and addressing 9 years of the repressed and unprocessed grief from my dads death.

The next gift given to me was a final push to leave my decade long career as a high school teacher.

I began crafting my exit strategy from education and building my own business.

I built a life coaching business intertwining the teachings of Mother Nature with women’s health and mental health.

I resigned from public education.

I grieved the loss of a career I deeply loved while catapulting myself into a new one.

I launched my business and 5 of the first 6 clients I ever worked with were, you guessed it, grieving women.

Immediately I was faced with the uncomfortable knowing that in order to find the peace I walked into 2022 begging for, was to accept grief as not just my friend but my gift.

In September, Hospice care was called in for my Mawmaw. Cancer.

Fucking Cancer.

I screamed at my gift of grief, give yourself to someone else. I don’t want you.

Very quickly I was sent in another time machine. Except this time back to September of 2013 when my dad entered into Hospice care.

This time — when the Hospice nurse explained the DNR, I didn’t clench my fists. I held my mawmaw’s hand. Then, I went home and I wrapped my arms around myself.

This time, when I watched a life drifting away piece by piece, and day by day, I felt honor where resentment used to lay.

This time, I knew in my bones that I was gifted with the opportunity to assist in this transition through death.

This time, I was comforted by the knowing that there is no death. Only the ending of one cycle in order to begin the next.

This time, as I heard the shift in breath, I began to pray.

This time, I allowed all feelings of grief to surface and to be seen. I was specific when asking for support from others and was able to pinpoint what would bring me glimmers of comfort during these times of immense pain.

This time, I know my grief is a gift. The gift of being supported and carried while I find my feet on this new ground of life without those I love, in the physical realm.

This time, I am comforted by my connection to the spiritual realm because I am in consistent communication with those I cannot see but can always feel.

This time, I rewrote grief. I reclaimed it. I rejoice in it. This grief is mine and she’s damn beautiful.