When one of the boys find a way to push me to the tip of the limit I always find myself retorting “Good Grief little boy” and watch their expression suddenly somersault. It’s priceless, honestly it is, and brings me back to the middle so that I can continue to be the parent I am. For all intensive purposes, it does the job.
Many of us have a little saying or chant we practice to do the same; bring us back to the moment. It seems that life comes fully equipped with these meager gestures to get us thru the bigs of our days because somehow it knew we would need such but in examining how we get thru things I found myself pondering just what is “good grief”?
You are such a good guesser, I read something that prompted this question. The article, that was very well written, talked about how we must grieve in our own time and in our own ways. I sat there staring at the screen afterwards and I wondered if the author had a wife, a few children, a demanding and pretentious day job and no real clue where his life was headed if ever out of the vagrancy of boredom until I reconsidered that he might actually be happy because he started to trust his “good grief”.
In that moment I started to reconsider points in my life where grief seemed to marinate in any open rifts I had. I then thought about how holding on far too seemed to have calculated a very grave, complacent, malicious fear of growth and redevelopment for a myriad of reasons. Looking back, none of those made any sense and the truth is they never will.
Today, I am relatively balanced and finding ways everyday to be a better me. My writing has put in me in a mind that I have vowed to never separate from and my love for music and books have vowed to be the misters’ that will wait for me wherever and whenever writing may leave me. My children are healthy and growing to be fine little people and to boot I have tons of successes to count.
All is considerably well except one of my most pressing relationships. It’s the one that keeps me silently yelling at the sound guy who has a place on every wall in my house asking him to pump up the volume. I need him to do so at times because it seems if I speak lowly respect is vanished and if I speak nicely advantage is taken so I need to yell. I yell, I scream and then something that mimics a raw hate soup starts to boil inside of me and then transfers as gazpacho onto my partner. It’s a feast that neither of us have come to love norless enjoy but find ourselves at the serving table quite a bit lately.
I have convinced myself and him too that the just of it is unrelenting grief. Grief on his part that he has yet to relinquish and grief on my part because he has yet to relinquish his own grief. I am the type who moves on remember…even if I let it move on inside of me untamed…I still…move on.
How does one relocate the “good grief” inside of a situation that keeps tipping the scale with banter and congestion? How does one put themselves aside and say “I will knowingly sacrifice my happiness for the sake of my partner and be ok with it?” How does one become another that they wish not be?
I will in fact answer those questions one day but for this moment I guess I will chant “good grief little girl” and pray that it turns into such one day down the line..and soon hopefully.