The Weaving Process

It’s been a season of walking. I anticipate the bumps in the road throughout the familiar avenues on the west side of Longwood University in a community where I live and work. As the miles accumulate, I look up at the sky both in the heat of the day and as the sun sets and the moon rises. I open my mind to think through things I’ve shut tightly away within myself. Most people spend some time during summer breaks organizing closets, basements, and garages. Others paint rooms, stain decks, and do landscaping. When life stands still in many ways, people open drawers and sort through the numerous items that were stashed away during busy days when time was short. I don’t do that. I am intentional about not opening drawers with things I know I must accept and cannot change. I find a focus in some form of work that is purposeful for me. What I give outside of myself feeds my soul in life. I don’t seek it out for that reason; but, selfishly, I know the return of mere involvement will make me better and hopefully contribute toward the betterment of someone or something else as well. Life works that way for me. I do best when my attention is away from myself. To stay home in seclusion…to stop over a period of time…might force me to unpack the boxes I’ve shut tightly and housed on shelves within my heart. I know they’re there and pass by them in fleeting thoughts. I function very efficiently in this manner. Is this a way of grieving?

Most people grieve over something. It’s not always a death, and trauma can rear its head in many forms…not just in one significant life-changing event. It can span over time. Most people have a few significant things locked away somewhere deep inside that are wrapped into some sort of loss from different stages of life. I have my few.

I mention how grief permeates throughout the lifespan because of its important role in preparing us-in preparing me-to function and flourish in my current circumstances of walking with the loss of my daughter. For me, reaching back into childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood has been a helpful exercise in the process of walking with grief and allowing it to mix in and out of daily life. It reminds me that daily life has its share of highs and lows, and any amount of optimism and focus on finding the good in all situations cannot replace the importance of recognizing the impact of losses in life and how it has changed me.

As I vary my routes on daily walks, I find myself looking up at trees…into the ways the trunks are split and woven into intersecting limbs bearing leaves into patterns that provide protection from the heat of the day. When I walk with Diana during hot days, we pick routes that have the most shady spots along the sides of the road and pause in the shadows locking our fingers behind our heads to breathe deeply as the wind blows slightly, bringing some relief and renewed stamina to push us forward. This is how we deal with the elements and set our walking pace while sweating through it. What began in early March with a growl and a “Let’s get it over with” from Diana has become a central part of our daily routine and an activity in which we all enjoy together. It is filled with laughter as Rob joins us prancing circles around us while issuing teasing challenges as he moves ahead at a faster pace. We listen to music together and watch for our favorite houses and yards with the purple flowers that I love.

Music brings thoughts of Erin. She joins us as we listen to music of any kind. For, music with nonsensical words, deep rhythmic tones, Disney flavored themes, simple faith, and all of our favorites from the 60s/70s either soothed her or provoked a humorous response from her in ways that now warm us and keep her close to us. Rob, Diana, and I share this together, since we were always a foursome in life.

We often cut through the cemetery to rest on the bench beside the paved drive that is covered by the branches of a beautiful willow oak tree; and in the peaceful setting, we sit quietly and wait for the coolness of the shade to calm us. I often return for a second walk alone and find solace in the brief pause on the bench beside the wide-based tree with the woven limbs that topple into clusters of low-hanging branches above me. As in “It’s Quiet Uptown” from Hamilton, we “are working through the unimaginable.” Months after we began our family walks and on a walk with just Rob, he played this song for me reminding me of its connection to the musical we had seen several months earlier. I had forgotten about this song from when I heard it initially. At the time, I was so excited to just have the opportunity to see Hamilton and was totally engaged in the whole presence of the performance and overall story. As we walked up a hill toward “The Avenues” (the Uptown) from “The Greens” (where we live) listening to the song, I cried and realized the impact of months of walking immersed in reflection and quiet and my connection to “working through the unimaginable” while walking.

Reflection is helpful in healing from the loss of Erin. Not the kind of healing of a wound that disappears completely from existence and leaves a scar on the skin changing its appearance forever, as is the impact of some other types of losses. This healing does not require our leaving her in the past, which is truly unimaginable. This healing is a process of weaving her life-a life that was so important to us-into ours. It’s a process that consents to mixing her existence into both the highs and lows of our everyday lives as we laugh together on our walks, look into nature, say her name, voice the fleeting memories that come to mind, and even let the tears well up in our eyes, spill over, and mix with the salty sweat on our cheeks.

I am no more certain of how to move forward from loss than I am of the success of my quest while walking to find two trees that have managed to weave their branches out of their trunks in the exact same pattern. I only know that each tree has either done it-grown into full leafy branches- or died. Each tree I’ve seen is either living vibrantly in the heat of summer, standing tall and providing the chance for all breathing life to exist, or it has ceased to thrive and exist due to the natural occurrences of life. I believe it is that way with our significant losses we encounter throughout our lives. Each can stunt our personal growth, even bring it to a halt, or be the fertilizer that strengthens the heart and soul. Each can promote a positive or negative change in how life is perceived or lived. As life continues, the collective impact of loss is naturally woven into what happens next. It takes root and can contribute stability if respected for what is gained from the experience, what is discarded, what is remembered, what is kept in the present. It is considered in future decisions and is drawn upon for advice when similar circumstances present in the lives of others. It becomes a component of wisdom that adds value to life in significant ways for what was loved and lost.

I choose to keep walking…