Fragility

I was astonished after my husband died to discover how incredibly fragile I was and how many different forms that fragility could take. Of course, I was often close to tears and my grief was an overwhelming constant, daily presence. But I was also:

• confused and indecisive  
• exhausted – physically, mentally and spiritually
• over-sensitive and easily hurt
• volatile and inconsistent – fine one moment and a mess the next  
• anxious and depressed in turns
• overwhelmed (emotionally, logistically, financially)
• and even sometimes paralyzed into inaction by fear

I truly felt not just fragile, but broken. The simplest things I had done without thinking before, now seemed like insurmountable obstacles. Grocery shopping (which Peter had always done) became an ordeal. I turtled at the thought of a chance encounter with someone who “didn’t know,” or worse, with someone who did. I had decisions to make – about life, finances, future plans, family, house and home – and felt inadequate, irrational and unable to think clearly. A chance thoughtless remark slayed me. Even kindness sometimes destroyed me. Help offered was sometimes no help at all. It felt as if grief had filled my “coping tank” to a within an inch of overflowing all the time, so almost anything and everything could make it spill over and frequently did. I felt weak and pathetic, a shadow of myself, walking around with phyllo paper thin skin.  

The truth is, grief does render us far more fragile. We are wounded. We cannot simply pick up the pieces of our life the next day and soldier on, as if the foundation of our world has not been profoundly shaken. It takes time and Herculean effort to recover our strength and find our footing again. Healing comes slowly, like the re-filling of very deep well, drop by drop, inch by inch. 

Is there anything you can do to make it easier on yourself while you patiently wait for that well to fill up? Perhaps, as the Desiderata says, you can avoid those who are “vexations to the spirit.” Maybe you need to take a huge detour around that friend or even family member who’s been unkind to you in the past or problematic in the present. Or simply choose to avoid a confrontation with that person who pushed in front of you in line. 

Can you ask for help with daunting tasks or postpone an important decision for another day? Ask a friend to check in on you or partner with someone for self care? Take the sick days you’ve accumulated or ask for a leave of absence and focus on healing? Anything you can do to make things easier and less stressful, you should do. Your full-time job right now is simply recovery; the rest can wait. 

Because you are not destroyed, you are grieving. 

I remember being honest with my children early on about how I felt. I told them I felt confused, weaker and diminished. “When your father was here, I felt invincible” I told my girls. “I feel like I’m so much less than I was now.”

My eldest looked right at me and said “But you know that’s not true, right Mama? “You’re actually more, not less. You’re still everything Daddy fell in love with and a whole lot more since he died.”

You are still that loving, capable, strong and resourceful person that you were before grief knocked on your door. And you are more. You are a person who has come through the fire, and been tempered. With time and love and rest and reflection, you will be a “whole lot more.” 

But between now and then, honour your own fragility and give it the tender, loving care it deserves.