He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things
which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has."
- Epictetus
This is one of my favorite quotes when I'm missing Peanut.
I can't speak for any other birthmothers or people who have experienced a traumatic loss, but I feel like I spend my life in one of two places: feeling the pain of my loss very acutely, or feeling almost numb to it because it's fullness is too great to bear. Neither of these places make me feel like I'm living fully in myself; one makes me so devastated it's hard to function, and the other leaves me feeling like I'm not fully appreciating and loving my son.
My challenge lately has been to camp right in between these places: to truly acknowledge my loss, and simultaneously rejoice for what I have. To understand that my son is not my own, but also that he never has been. To know that in my unhappiness over losing him, there is great joy in having given him life. To remember, once again, that the deal I made with myself and with God was that I would handle the heartache if it meant Peanut wouldn't have to.
I hate to challenge Epictetus (because, really, who am I??), but I think, at least when it comes to loss, grief has an important role to play. The grief is my evidence of the depth of my love for Peanut, the reminder of the sacrifice, and the outlet for my sadness. To live in grief forever would be counter-productive, but to never visit? That seems equally unhelpful. And the rejoicing...the happiness is my evidence of the depth of my love for Peanut, the fruit of the sacrifice, and the outlet for my gratitude. While living here forever has sounded nice, I have found that it acknowledges only half of my experience. To never visit grief is to deny part of the truth of what Peanut and I went through, and life cannot be really lived unless it is lived in truth.
I guess what I'm saying is that I think Epictetus has it mostly right. When I'm stuck in grief, this quote helps remind me that I have a lot to rejoice about. But I think he would agree that grief has its place, too, when it acts as an outlet for true pain and sorrow.
So wish me luck, I'm going camping : )
I can't speak for any other birthmothers or people who have experienced a traumatic loss, but I feel like I spend my life in one of two places: feeling the pain of my loss very acutely, or feeling almost numb to it because it's fullness is too great to bear. Neither of these places make me feel like I'm living fully in myself; one makes me so devastated it's hard to function, and the other leaves me feeling like I'm not fully appreciating and loving my son.
My challenge lately has been to camp right in between these places: to truly acknowledge my loss, and simultaneously rejoice for what I have. To understand that my son is not my own, but also that he never has been. To know that in my unhappiness over losing him, there is great joy in having given him life. To remember, once again, that the deal I made with myself and with God was that I would handle the heartache if it meant Peanut wouldn't have to.
I hate to challenge Epictetus (because, really, who am I??), but I think, at least when it comes to loss, grief has an important role to play. The grief is my evidence of the depth of my love for Peanut, the reminder of the sacrifice, and the outlet for my sadness. To live in grief forever would be counter-productive, but to never visit? That seems equally unhelpful. And the rejoicing...the happiness is my evidence of the depth of my love for Peanut, the fruit of the sacrifice, and the outlet for my gratitude. While living here forever has sounded nice, I have found that it acknowledges only half of my experience. To never visit grief is to deny part of the truth of what Peanut and I went through, and life cannot be really lived unless it is lived in truth.
I guess what I'm saying is that I think Epictetus has it mostly right. When I'm stuck in grief, this quote helps remind me that I have a lot to rejoice about. But I think he would agree that grief has its place, too, when it acts as an outlet for true pain and sorrow.
So wish me luck, I'm going camping : )
2 comments:
Thanks to you, in part, blogging I have found and am getting to know my biological mother 32 years late. She has said in general all the things you say here. You two should meet and talk and maybe it could work through your hurt and longings and grief. JAT.
Let me say from the "Peanut" side, that I am extremely grateful for the sacrifices and am learning about the longing and heartache that is suffered endlessly it seems for years.
I'm sorry for your loss. I pray he comes back to you sooner than I did to my bio mom.
Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words; they mean more to me than I can tell you. I hope that meeting your biological mom has been a happy experience; I'm sure that she is thrilled to know you, however many years have passed, and have a chance to be in your life. I hope you come to have a wonderful relationship :)
Post a Comment