When I woke up Friday morning, my entire face was swollen, the remnants of tears collecting in the corners of my lashes, the skin on my eyelids red and raw, everything a little puffy. I cried for a long time on Thursday, and my physical features showed the wear and tear from letting the tears come and come and come.
Creating space for grief can require a lot from our frame.
When I woke up on Friday morning, my heart was heavy, my mind a little foggy, my thoughts a little slow to form, the current of sadness still moving right beneath the surface. We dropped Jake at college on Thursday, and I came back home without his belongings, but carrying a load of grief that was heavier than I expected.
Creating space for growth and change can require a lot from our hearts.
As we respond to our stinging eyes and aching heart, tenderness is paramount. We must be full of care with our tender places, our tender skin, our tender feelings. Harshness would be a mistake. Lavish, nourishing, gentle care is what is required.
My eyes and face, swollen from sadness, carrying the grief that comes with transitions, needs a moisturizing balm, perhaps a cooling facial mask, and lots of sleep. A mug of Häagen-Dazs Pistachio Almond and a cozy blanket wouldn't hurt.
My heart, tender from the letting go, needs gentle expectations, a kind inner voice, and lots of hugs from my people. A good family movie night, a slice of cheese pizza, and an early bedtime wouldn't hurt.
In my experience, there is not a short cut for this kind of thing. The only way forward, the only way to gain a solid footing and live whole-heartedly is to walk honestly through the feelings, allowing them the space they need to change us from the inside out. Meanwhile, when we are puffy and raw, tired and threadbare, we are called to care for the soul that feels the sting of loss and body that houses all that love. May we do so tenderly.
