Today as I write, my dear friend, Gina, lays on an operating table with her brain exposed. We are all praying that the surgeons find scar tissue and not a new tumor. As her family sits in a cold sterile waiting room, we are at home entertaining the neighbor boy and preparing to paint our bedroom. My life continues status quo and theirs comes to a halt.
And then there's my neighbor, Anna. She lost her sister in a ski accident in January. Anna and I have been friends for almost eight years. We met after the birth of our first sons. We announced our second pregnancies to each other on the same day. We live in identical homes, except flipped - her kitchen is on the right and mine is on the left. Our husbands each drive Honda Accords and work for HIV organizations. We both teach and are a consistent source of sanity during our long summer breaks. We make time for play dates and mommy dates. When Shooter, with Mark Wahlberg came out, we were first in line to see it. Anna and I live similar lives, except now her sister is gone and mine are not.
Anna's story is unique because there are thousands of people grieving the loss of her sister, Sarah Burke, the athlete and Olympic hopeful. But, I did not know Sarah - I know Anna. I grieve for Anna and her loss. A life that will no longer be lived with a sister in this world. The world grieves for Sarah, the skier; Anna grieves the loss of a beloved sister. Her pain is private. The knowledge of others grieving does not change her process. Grief is hers and hers alone.
Living at the center of grief is very different than sitting at the edge of it. The pain is there, but on the edge you can move closer to it or step away. Life can go on as normal, painting and play dates, without being overwhelmed and immersed in it. At the center, the grief is ever present. Gina's family cannot escape the pain and fear of her surgery. It surrounds them. I sit at the park, birds singing, a cool breeze diffusing the bright sunshine - I am aware of the ache in my heart but can be distracted by the carefree imaginative play of my children.
Grief. It seems that life should stop for all. And yet, it does not. I suppose this fact is a blessing, but today it doesn't feel like it - even out here at the edge of it.
Anna's story is unique because there are thousands of people grieving the loss of her sister, Sarah Burke, the athlete and Olympic hopeful. But, I did not know Sarah - I know Anna. I grieve for Anna and her loss. A life that will no longer be lived with a sister in this world. The world grieves for Sarah, the skier; Anna grieves the loss of a beloved sister. Her pain is private. The knowledge of others grieving does not change her process. Grief is hers and hers alone.
Living at the center of grief is very different than sitting at the edge of it. The pain is there, but on the edge you can move closer to it or step away. Life can go on as normal, painting and play dates, without being overwhelmed and immersed in it. At the center, the grief is ever present. Gina's family cannot escape the pain and fear of her surgery. It surrounds them. I sit at the park, birds singing, a cool breeze diffusing the bright sunshine - I am aware of the ache in my heart but can be distracted by the carefree imaginative play of my children.
Grief. It seems that life should stop for all. And yet, it does not. I suppose this fact is a blessing, but today it doesn't feel like it - even out here at the edge of it.
Wow, Natalie... What a powerful piece. Your description of the edge of grief fits so well with your description of Gina's family and Anna. Beautifully done.
ReplyDelete"Living at the center of grief is very different than sitting at the edge of it." This line resonated with me - brilliant!
ReplyDeleteNatalie this is amazing.... I connected in so many ways. As a person on the "edge of it" and a person in the middle of it." I am sending love to Gina and Anna... and to you.
ReplyDelete