just around the corner
on grief, friendship, and finding the line
estrangement grief is so sneaky.
after a breast reduction consultation on wednesday, i thought i would feel a sense of elation and excitement for what was to come. instead, a brain fog set in so heavy, i was almost paralyzed by it.
soon after the appointment, my period came.
right on time, but with a different kind of pain than i was used to. my womb bulged with the familiar feeling of fingernails being raked along the insides.
but then my hips began to ache—dull and deep and radiating down the outsides of my legs. my lower back felt heavy and hard to hold. the sciatica that i have been dealing with since february turned into pins and needles down my whole backside. my arms became tender to the touch and in my wrists, a stabbing sensation kept me from attempting to lift or move anything. a dull headband headache made it hard to keep my eyes open.
i was irritable in a way that felt fragile, as if, i was a hurt animal trying to lick its wounds in a bush so my predators could not hear me crying. the pain was confusing and frustrating.
down into the spiral i went.
when have i ever felt good in my life?
when was the last time i had one day that i wasn’t in pain?
will i ever feel good again?
am i worth loving if i am this broken?
and on and on and on.
* * *
once, on our second to last day down the colorado river in the grand canyon, my partner and i got off-line in a big wave train and ended up in a roiling eddy on the right side of the river. all five of the other boats and the kayakers had ended up either staying in the wave train or getting bumped left. the eddy line was strong as it butted up against six-foot waves that curled in breaks towards the left.
at the bottom, a towering, sandstone boulder caught the current in a pillowing wave. the perfect pin-rock.
about ten feet from the top of the eddy was a smaller rock, peaking out just enough to get a boat caught. it proved impossible to get around.
my partner tried getting us out first. he set the nose of the boat near the shore and pulled us up towards the top of the eddy, just below the smaller rock. trying as hard as he could to keep his upstream angle, his arms flexed against the oars. as soon as the back of our boat hit the current, we spun like a tiny top back into the eddy.
over and over and over we tried. Him, then me, then him, then me.
once, we even sat face to face, all four of our hands gripping the hot black rubber of the oars. Him pulling me pushing back and forth to try to get as much power as we could.
still, we ended up in the eddy.
we screamed at the water.
at the rocks.
at the sky.
at each other.
we had been stuck almost an hour. our crew was long gone downstream.
after what felt like our hundredth try, we sat panting in the heat of the august afternoon. our whole bodies trembled as we looked up and down the river for something we hadn’t yet tried. some other avenue. we could smell the fear on one another.
then, seemingly at the same time we looked at the pin rock at the bottom of the eddy and watched the pillowing wave flush. our ticket out. the water had been telling us the whole time, we just hadn’t slowed down enough to listen. of course, we couldn’t fight the current.
we cued up one more time at the top of the eddy, my partner pulled, keeping us in a delicate duet with the line. i got on the downstream side of the boat near the bow and wedged my thighs between the frame and the floor and stretched towards the boulder from my waist—we were headed broadside into the rock and just as the left-side front tube crashed into the rock, i pushed off as hard as i could, spinning us down stream and back into the current.
our crew had been right there waiting for us the whole time.
we had just been too focused on ourselves to know it.
* * *
after finally taking some ibuprofen, the grip that the pain had taken over me began to wiggle free. i began crying from the familiar wound that i hadn’t realized would open after a breast reduction consultation.
i wanted my mom. but just, not MY mom.
i needed a woman who could hear exactly what i was saying and understand from a place of unconditional love. a lap to rest my head in. sure fingers to comb through my hair. a steady voice saying, we don’t have to decide anything right now. to know that i wasn’t alone.
my period wasn’t so painful as was the grief of feeling hungry for a mother i do not have.
i curled up on the couch with the dog pressed into my chest and took the rest my body had been begging me for all day.
grief has a way of spiraling back on itself until we can slow down enough to listen to where it is leading us.
when i stay open to the possibility of grief as a fluid and changing thing, i am less likely to become frozen in the fear of that pain pulling me under. instead of isolating myself inside of the ache— i texted my girlfriends and asked for help.
their reassurance is the soft lap where i lay my head. their understanding, the sure hands braiding my hair.
their reminders of, “you don’t have to make a decision right now,” my reorientation back towards participating in the relationships i do have, instead of hiding inside of the grief of the ones i don’t.
* * *
my crew was just around the corner the whole time.
i think maybe healing has never been about erasing the wound, but learning how to remain in relationship with what hurts without abandoning ourselves in the process.
thank you for walking beside me as i learn the language of my own rivers. i hope you find some language here to navigate yours.
all my love,
mimi