Thanksgiving/Thanks Grief
“Life gives us pain. Our job is to experience it when it gets handed to us. Avoidance of loss has a cost. Having our pain seen and seeing the pain in others is a wonderful medicine for both body and soul.”
― David Kessler, Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief
My son Lucas at our favorite swimming and fishing hole on the Swannanoa River.
Lucas boasts his prize catch, a bass this past smmer
In the days immediately following the catastrophic experience of Hurricane Helene sweeping through our mountain community, family and friends from across the state and country called, texted reached out to check on us. When they asked how we were doing, I simply said, “I’m grateful to be alive and to have a standing home.”
On this Thanksgiving, I am seeking gratitude in this messiness of grief and sorrow that still churns in my heart and mind. Gratitude and hope both seem slippery and ephemeral as I continue to drive daily through a warzone of debris. I try to put on the blinders, keep my eyes stuck on the road instead of the skeletons of lives, businesses and completely altered landscapes that haunt the Swannanoa community.
It’s not only the rugged and bruised landscape but the loss of so many treasured landmarks that make up our family memories, like our favorite swimming and fishing hole situated along the Swannanoa River.
In this sacred spot, we have soaked in the sunshine, listened to the babbling waters, fished and swam on countless days. While the swimming hole itself is still mostly intact, the trail and river that leads there is now a cemetery of overturned cars, furniture and trash.
Debris along the Swannanoa River
This is now the trail that leads to our favorite swimming hole on the river.
Then there’s Owen Park, a beautiful community park silhouetted by mountains just beyond Warren Wilson College. This county park featured a figure eight walking trail wrapped around two lakes, basketball court, picnic tables, a playground, the Swannanoa River curving around its edges. My sons and I have spent so many sun dappled afternoons, walking, wading, exploring and playing in this park and now it’s washed away, the lakes no more, a completely altered landscape.
Grief is a process, I know. According to Kübler-Ross, there are five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance are a part of this grief journey. Recently, I have bounced all around the first four stages, it's been a roller coaster of emotions, in no easy order.
What I do know about grief thus far in my life, what I’ve learned from firsthand experience is I must face and feel the pain, let the wound bleed and ache, let the scabs begin to form. If I try to avoid it, bury it, hide it away, it will only bubble up and resurface. After the loss of my first pregnancy, a miscarriage at eleven weeks, I only cried the first day after leaving the doctor’s office. I came home and laid my head on the carpet, sobbed, yelled at God, at the reality of my broken dream of motherhood. Then I buried it deep, sealed it away and tried not to feel anything. But I quickly learned that I could not stash away this pain. It rose to the surface any time I saw pregnant women, heard children's laughter, thought of the dates and would have-beens.
It took me months to finally confront and deal with the pain. I began to research miscarriage, how common it is, the myths and misunderstandings around. I also learned that one of the biggest reasons women have trouble moving on, is the the lack of ceremony and silence that surrounds this loss.
In the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, I know we must face this grief, feel this pain. However, it seems hard to find closure and begin the healing process, when we are still living in experiencing the pain and loss of landscape, home, identity, and heart of memories forever changed on a daily basis.
A friend told me recently of going to the lower Green River with his wife, a place also decimated by the storm. They went to say goodbye to the places along the river that had been so dear to him and his family, the place where he was married, the place where he first kayaked. His eyes filled with tears, explaining how overwhelmed and sad it felt.
Maybe that is the first step here, we must begin to say goodbye. We must find ways to commemorate and create ceremonies around these innumerable losses.
It’s a long road ahead, this grief journey that lies before us. While I don’t know all the hows or whys or whens, I do know I must live this grief, experience it, feel it tremble through me, wreck my soul and wash me out. As David Kellser says in his book, Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief, “ You don’t have to experience grief, but you can only avoid it by avoiding love. Love and grief are inextricably intertwined.”
It’s because I have loved these things so dearly, that I must experience the pain of losing them. I don’t want to avoid this love of land and place and home, So, on this Thanksgiving I say Thank you grief, I am thankful for understanding stages I must muck through, the love I have felt and the hope that I will heal.
