Grief Brings Me to Unfamiliar Territory

Monday, Monday...MONDAY!
I think momentum is returning. Maybe it's the warm weather, the sun, the birds. I realized something today. My father's death was not the FIRST thing in my mind as I woke up. Admittedly it was the second. I don't know how I am supposed to feel about this. In part, it is a brief and welcome respite from the pain that death doles out. At least I did not wake up, sucking in my breath as the virtual stab to my heart hits. I woke up feeling refreshed. This is new, too, since my father's passing.

 It's taken three months to begin recouperating.

As I reconnect with my local friends, there have been opportunities to re-tell the story: my dad's story, really.  I read somewhere that it's important to tell the story of someone's passing; it aids us in our grieving, helps the experience feel more "real." HMMM. We, those who have lost someone, feel the duality of denial and reality---we KNOW we've lost someone, but it's hard to believe. I think it's that our hearts cannot fathom it.  I can't tell yet if relaying The Story is helping me. It's never Less Painful. The reason I've not seen a lot of people is because I don't want to tell it. I don't want to answer questions, I don't want to be gracious in my replies to offers of condolence. This re-opens the wound. I can't stand it.

I have two very public events coming up in the next week. The rehearsal on Sunday and the concert on Tuesday. I agreed to this gig back in October, riding the wave of other gig happiness, and living in the Great Unknown.  My father was declining, but we were all living day to day, not pursuing the future.   Anyway, next week's annual concert, now in its eighth year, has always been important to me. I generally love the spotlight :o) but this concert is all about the collaboration of women --students and faculty as well as a selected community organization that focuses on women and girls. I am dreading this event for a couple of reasons--because I like these women so much I let my guard down. I don't want to be any more vulnerable than *absolutely necessary*. And then there are the college students. During my year on sabbatical I have seen very few of them.  Coffees here and there, Facebook messages.  Seeing the women's choir at this Sunday's rehearsal is going to be emotional. I don't want that, either. 

I don't know how to be with my grief in professional situations.  I don't want to be with my grief in professional situations. This event (Her Story, Her Song, btw) is both professional and personal. So again, Grief brings me to unfamiliar territory. 

Hey, the truth is that my students know me as a woman of few filters--I don't do "Professor Mode" very well. I'm just myself. They usually think this is a good thing; sometimes not. I usually think it's a good thing, too, but being Me all day is exhausting. WELL, my friends, this is another story entirely. I digress.

So this begs the question: Getting myself back out there is good, right? I had the opportunity to pull out of this upcoming concert but did not. When my mother died three years ago, I cancelled a gig because I couldn't muster the energy to sing.  I was embarrassed (sp) and felt unprofessional. Was this a legitimate reason to cancel something to which I'd agreed? What is legitimate enough? Jesus! I really struggled with the decision, but in the end, it was the right one. 

This time, with my father's passing, I am more deeply affected. This is well-documented. My energy has been sapped, although, as I wrote above, I have felt a bit more renewed the past few mornings.  I'm back at yoga. The baby steps I have been taking feel like walking on broken glass.  The rehearsal on Sunday will be more difficult than the actual gig. Sunday will be the broken glass. Because people may want to comfort me, console me. I stiffen, now, when these things happen. What will happen?  The Unfamiliar has proven to be painful in my recent history, so I am more sensitive, more fearful of unknown emotional situations.

The concert will be a piece of cake in comparison to Sunday's re-introduction to all those who know but haven't seen me. I will put on my familiar body armor: lots of make up, concert hair, evening gown, heels. I will cloak myself in the business of singing, engaging my body in breathing and supporting my sound, finding the focal point beyond the audience. Hey...that's professionalism. Going about the business at hand.  My father thoroughly believed in his will to continue working throughout his devastating illness. I am healthy, although very, very sad. If he could do it, so can I.

Body armor, spiritual armor. Veni, vidi, vici. Love you, Dad!