I grew up in upstate New York where the seasons clearly announced their arrival and departure. My favorite was autumn with all its colors, the colder air and the smell of burning leaves – but I also looked forward to the fun of winter snowball fights, sledding and Christmastime just around the corner. And after that, the slow thaw into spring would unfold with yellow daffodils sprouting up from their buried bulbs. And not long after that, the hot, humid and sweat-soaked days of summer arrived.
So when I first heard the concept of grief as a season, the meaning instantly registered with me. What a relief! No matter how extreme the bitter cold of winter grief, it would eventually give way to spring. It wouldn’t last forever!
This chapter also addresses the concept of slowly coming-to after a knock-out punch. My vision started to clear. My thoughts started to come together. And the reality of the daunting road ahead started to set in.
At the Time:
The concept of a “season of grief” gave me a momentary sense of hope and optimism, but it was so far away from my reality that it was more of a mirage than real. Still, it was a signpost that gave me a point of reference. Yes, I was inside a grief cave, but only for a season – not forever. And that gave me my first real sense of hope.
What I’ve Learned Since:
I’ve learned that the concept of a “season of grief” is true. If I was going to apply a season to my grief, it would be winter. Dark. Cold. Silent. Isolated. Harsh. But I also learned how it can transform into a new season of light. Warmth. Growth. New and stronger life.
I also learned the importance of working through my grief rather than giving up and giving into grief as a never-ending life sentence. I’ve learned that I play a huge role in my own grief process. Grief offered me a path to follow inside a dark and painful cave, but it was up to me to either walk the path or not. How I respond to grief is my choice.