Grief, a gift.

"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them- that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like." -Lao Tzu

First blog post, yay! This is an accomplishment for me as I have been putting off this endeavor for about a year :( The idea to candidly share from my lens has been brewing in my medulla for quite some time. To be honest, I can let my perfectionist ideals get in the way of certain things. Perfect timing, or perfect setting, or being in just the right mood. Admittedly, I am a true Taurean and we are ruled by our senses. We simply thrive on our creature comforts. But I'm slowly learning to navigate this better. The oddest of things propelled me to sit down, and take the plunge THIS weekend; grief. I recently lost my mother to cancer. It's been less than two months since her passing, I am filled with grief. Not consumed, but filled. I make that distinction because I think it's important to recognize the cyclical nature of feelings so that you can move forward and not become stuck. Being full of grief has left no space for some of the other emotions I have occasionally. With this blog, today, I had no room to overthink publishing this thing. In a way, my grief has given me a more lighthearted approach to life. Funny how mom still finds a way to pour into me even after she has departed this earth.

Recently, on the PATH train to work, a woman suddenly cried a gut wrenching sob. She sat surrounded by 3 young girls (whom I later learned to be her daughters.) As she cried, people would steal a glimpse, but looked away so as to "mind their business." For a minute, I thought they were filming one of those social experiment shows on bystanders. One gentleman passenger sitting across from her, walked to her, asked if she was okay, told her to breathe and took his seat once again. This made my heart smile.

I was a little hesitant myself to approach her until she spoke four words: "My sister just died." Instantly, my heart dropped. A newcomer to grief, I felt her pain. I walked over to her, put a hand on her shoulder and told her girls mom would be okay. Mothers are pillars of strength, and it can be a scary and even confusing thing to see your mom vulnerable as a young girl. After all mama = superwoman, right?

Soon after, another passenger offered a tissue. I also told her to breathe. If you've ever experienced an earth-shattering moment like this, remembering to breath is so important. Your head gets light and the room spins. Literally feels like the oxygen is taken from you. Breathe. In this moment I thought about what would console me. Believe it or not, talking through it often helped early on. The permanence of death is confusing and letting out your thoughts to reconcile helps to process it. I took a gamble and said, "I recently lost my mom, I understand." Inviting her to share. She was able to calm a bit. This was a good sign. She then told me her only sister just passed away from the same cancer that stole her mother 5 years prior. Damn. I say stole intentionally as Cancer is a thieving savage! Often silent and very intrusive, it takes over your body without permission. The ever-famous hashtag makes that much more sense after seeing it in action...literally #fcancer.

I reminded the woman she will be okay and mentioned how beautiful and sweet her girls were. Each of them lay a little hand on her as well. I thought to ask what her stop was, so that she didn't miss it: mental note, "Exchange Place, Jersey City." We sat in silence with my hand still on her shoulder. I asked was it okay to give her money to feed her family for the next day. God made sure I had cash that Wednesday- this is a rarity, I assure yall. My beautiful friends also sent me meals in the midst of my storm, because I damn sure wasn't thinking about eating, let alone feeding anyone in the days following mom's passing.

So why the long-winded train tale? To share how grief has been a gift. In less than two months, I've become more brave (more on this later) and gained the ability to connect with and I hope in the moment help someone going through the same thing. I wish I could say I hate it here, because I miss my mother terribly. And there is a gaping hole in me now. Think about being starving, but no meal fills you. Or exhausted, but no amount of sleep makes you feel restful...it's like that. But I'm far too in tune with God to not see the blessings that grief has given me. Death is an inevitable part of life. If I'm going to be here, I might as well find the silver lining. If you are facing something similar, I hope you can too.

- growing in grief, Ash