This is Where I Live
I found myself there in the river’s current. I thought I could swim out at first, so I headed toward the river bank. Stroke after stroke after stroke, but when I looked up the bank was further away. The current was pulling me to the center and down the river faster than I could swim. Fatigue was setting in, so I decided to stop swimming and float in the current to rest for a while. The current turned me around to view the rocks just before the river began to play pinball with me in those very rocks.
Hitting one big rock, I was spun around just in time to notice that the river was missing in front of me. In a split second reality hit me. The river had just become a huge waterfall and I was free falling through the misty air with the droplets of water. Now crashing in the pool below I expected to never see the light of day again.
Gasp of air came in my lungs with water as I tried to breathe. Before I could gasp a second time, the pinball game started again continuing until I blacked out in pain. I could see everything when I woke, but I felt nothing. Still bouncing off the rocks, I felt little to no pain.
Then I was washed into a pool of gentle moving water where I started to feel all of the bruises and cuts. But the current was still moving me and I could not touch the bottom. At least I was not in the swift punishing current for now.
Time passed as I moved in the water ever so slow for a while. Again, suddenly I was pushed back in the swift current for a few minutes, only to be kicked back into the gentle pool again.
In the gentle pools I had time to think.
I am soaking wet, so there is no denying that I am in the river. It’s not a bad dream.
Anger? At who? Nobody put me here. It was just a result of living near the river and enjoying the swim.
I guess I could bargain with someone to pull me out, or even argue that I was not really in the river at all. But there is no one around, and I am still in the river.
In the gentle pools, I can accept my situation and think about getting out of the river. But as the thought of finding my way to the bank comes, the current pulls me back into the center and crashes me on the rocks again.
The fast moving rocky part of the river brings the depressed thoughts that I may never get out of this river. Then dropped in another gentle pool, I accepted the turmoil and the calm. And I am thankful.
This is where I live these days, in the River of Grief.
I, too, am afloat in that River of Grief. My precious wife is in her last days having fought the good fight against a progressive neurodegenerative disease that has robber her of her ability to control her muscles, to speak, and now to swallow. Her muscles remain in spasm that is painful to her. I am her caregiver and the work is exhausting both physically and emotionally. Even though she has not passed away yet, the waves of grief sweep over me without warning. Your description of floating down this river is a perfect word picture of how this feels. Thank you for sharing this. You have been very helpful to me right now.
Marv, I feel the pain in your words. There are struggles we experience as a caregiver that can make the grieving process even more complicated, which you are experiencing already. If you have not read my story Grief and Healing 1, please do. The best I can offer is to encourage you to keep talking about the struggle anytime it is on your mind. Talk about it even if you are the only one in the room. Write out your thoughts even if it is just in a notebook. However you can, let it come out in your own words. I will remember you in my prayers as you face the days ahead.