Back in March, I had a week where I really felt like I was making great progress and getting "over" the biggest waves of grief. Then a couple days later, I found myself sobbing to the point of exhaustion through the last few minutes of WandaVision... You watch as she releases her grip on everything she has been holding in and holding together throughout the series, finally acknowledging that the life she dreamed of and hoped for cannot ever become her reality.
(To very briefly summarize the backstory, Wanda was in love with Vision and they had plans for a life together, then he was killed and she witnessed his death. She was so traumatized by the loss that she used her powers to subconsciously manifest a false reality where she controls everything and keeps a version of him alive. In the final episode, she describes her creation as the piece of him that lives inside her. "You are my sadness and my hope, but mostly, you are my love.")
The grief emotions in this show were intense and well-portrayed. I adore Elizabeth Olsen.
Through the first eight episodes, you get to see very clearly the full life and family and lovely home she had always longed for (all portrayed through different sitcoms because she's subconsciously controlling this alternate reality, and she had always loved watching those family-centered shows as a young child who was grieving the loss of some of her family members...)
After an epic battle with her enemy in the final episode, Vision tells her, "I know you'll set things right... but not for us." And she looks at him with so much sadness and says, "No, not for us." Because setting things right means coming back to reality and really letting him go. And that scene where the sitcom-perfect world she created begins to rapidly fade out and turn back into present reality, gradually moving in toward their home in the center of town and culminating with him and their children and home slowly disappearing before her eyes... then she is suddenly standing there alone in the vacant lot where they had planned to build this home and have this amazing, vibrant life together -- that. was. ROUGH.
And that breathtaking moment struck me as such an excellent depiction of all that loss and grief take from us. The sense of loss reaches into our past, present, and future. We lose the joy we find in reminiscing together over a collection of shared memories, the present-day relationship connection and support, and our preferred vision for our lives as we move forward. A big part of grief involves letting go of the vast myriad of future things you've longed for that no one else typically sees or understands. This is why our losses may seem relatively insignificant and small to others while they feel overwhelming and incalculable to us.
In grief, we are often hyper-aware of all that might have been. It's incredibly hard and confusing, so the grief process is now portrayed as a messy mix of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance rather than a linear set of ordered steps. If you've been there, you know. (And if you don't, do your best to be loving and avoid judgment.) While those on the outside tend to miss it completely or only see the quiet emptiness of our grief, we hold in our minds and hearts the full-fledged idealized future version of the connection we cherished, a relationship that ended before we were ready to say goodbye.
A stranger casually sifting through the archives of this blog could tell you pretty quickly that I place a high value on relational connection (growing with God, family, niece and nephews, friends, and in self-awareness). Cultivating authentic close friendships is one of the most meaningful parts of my life purpose. There is no promotion or hobby or accomplishment that ever comes close to replacing deeply personal relationships. And regardless of your stage of life, it is always profoundly sad to lose your best friend. This still qualifies as the most painful and confusing loss I have endured thus far, which I ironically wrote about here only two days before we reconnected in 2019.
(Fun bonfire night with the lifegroup, Galentines craft night, 3D movie day, her birthday dinner, 2009 roommate pic, TU Law School graduation, Vegas fountains on the VCGO trip, summer convertible drive, Central Park in NYC, Red Rock dinner for Chet's birthday, Maroon 5 & OneRepublic concert with Chet and Sarah, Big Cedar trip with Ruth and Charlotte, our 2nd Vegas trip for Bill and Jill's wedding, my birthday, Cassie's wedding, and a random casino hangout when her sister was in town)
Trusting God does not stop hard things from being painful, unfortunately. I have been in survival mode more often than I'd like since January, with my emotions always close to the surface and needing extra sleep and time to recharge. This grief journey has been intense for me. It’s haunting when you know and long for what might have been - when that is such a clear and vivid picture in your mind, real only to you perhaps, but that hope was very real. That stuff matters, and I think it's what can make grief so heartbreaking and isolating and lonely... having this alternate version of your future that will most likely remain unseen and unknown by others, even those closest to you. When you least expect it, you 'connect' with the person you've lost in dreams. The love you feel for them perseveres long after they are 'gone,' and it can all be a lot to process. That's why we need someone to witness our grief, to care enough to simply be compassionately present with us and allow us to feel it all. We all want to feel seen and cared for in our pain, and simply mentioning it here helps me feel less alone with the full weight of this heartbreak. As Mr. Rogers wisely put it, "Anything mentionable is manageable."
It's become comical to me now to remember that I thought the worst of my grief was over two months in. I watched that final episode of WandaVision the morning it came out, not realizing it would wreck me emotionally. And as I redid all the makeup I'd cried off before going in to work that morning, I had a realization that this is probably why grief comes to us in waves...
Because feeling it all at once would drown us.
Grief can be unexpectedly heavy, but God is gracious. Those waves are coming in slower now, and I am certainly not in a dark place or hopeless mindset. Having walked a very similar broken road before helps me remember which potholes to avoid, and I am working with God and my counselor to keep myself in a much healthier place this time. I am more secure and grounded in reality, so the emotional pendulum swing has been far less intense. Meaning I am better able to acknowledge her humanity and imperfections without villainizing her, and able to honor her significant role in my life without glorifying her. I'm grateful for that progress and for the way God has been at work in this situation -- past, present, and future. (One final post on this topic coming next week.)
For now, I'm reminded of these lyrics from my favorite hymn:
That comforting lyric applies to the waves of our grief, too. When we call on Him in times of extreme turbulence, Jesus will step in and calm our weary hearts...
"Peace. Be still." ❤
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