Change is a Coming

"It comes in waves," I say about grief to a student in my office. "There will be moments where you don't think about it and then suddenly there it is again, making you feel sad or angry or numb or confused or a whole mixture of feelings all at once. And they are all OK to feel."

He looks at me with tears in his eyes and nods.

"Everyone experiences grief when they lose someone they love. It just doesn't always look the same."

We color as we talk with pencils in a variety of shades, some sharp others worn down from previous use. I work on a horse with a long flowing mane; with careful strokes I place red and orange between the black lines, adding fire to white. The student works on a turtle, bringing a rainbow of colors to the page.

On any given day, in a different hour, my picture could look completely different. More indigo and violet, a cooler palette, or perhaps the softer shades of pastels.

"What is your favorite color?" kids often ask.

"Orange, green, and purple."

"No, just one."

"But I can't pick just one."

It depends on the day, on my mood, and on what I'm picking the color for-- I can't choose only one shade.

It's been a rough stretch, both at work and at home, more gravity less light, but it seems to be lifting, just a little, as Spring stretches our days, and the heat of the sun reminds me that the only constant is change.

With change comes a longing for what we leave behind mixed with hope for what lays ahead.

I find myself here often, in this middle space between familiar and unkown, between yesterday and tomorrow, pulled between poles as if I can keep one foot in each space, a finger on the pulse of both history and future.

How many times must I say to myself, there is only today, only now, until my mind remembers and stops its wanderings into past decisions or out into days unseen?

I can be fully present for the children who sit in my office, who hand me their heart wrapped in a story of loss and pain, but I don't often give myself the same attention.

I don't write when I know I need to turn to the page.

But, again, the only constant is change-- and I feel the wind shifting, more of a warm breeze than a bite, more patient, soft, and forgiving.

More like a hug than a hurricane.

More to come...

Comments

[elizabeth]

sending a giant hug from the chilly east coast.

[Danielle]

Hope things are resolving themselves into more light, less gravity. Best from Zurich

[Sara]

Christy, I always love reading your blog, taking away nuggets of wisdom, empathy, humor, and hope. These words today resonated with me so much though, bringing tears to my eyes, I just wanted to say thank you:

It's been a rough stretch, both at work and at home, more gravity less light, but it seems to be lifting, just a little, as Spring stretches our days, and the heat of the sun reminds me that the only constant is change. With change comes a longing for what we leave behind mixed with hope for what lays ahead."

Everyone's challenges and sadnesses may be and look different, as you said to your advisee, but we as humans share remarkably common emotions. Thank you for sharing yours, as you helped put words to mine. :-)

[Christy]

Ah, thank you Sara for letting me know my words spoke to your heart.

Hugs to all!