It always happens around Day 3 of my vacation. As I sit in solitude and my body begins to rest, the many things that are hard and contribute to my fatigue rise to the surface. This year in particular has been marked by a large amount of loss in a short period of time. While I am always trying to attend to my grief, 2024 has not made it easy to keep up. Even before the death of one person registered in my heart, another person was just as suddenly gone. Reflecting on this while sitting on a dock and staring out at the water, I began to sense the impending wave of emotion. I’ve learned to not resist.

What ensues is a mix of things. I ugly cry. I pray- sometimes wordlessly, and sometimes with so many words that I can’t help but trip over them. I try to breathe through the pain in a mindful way. At some point I can’t keep my eyes open and fall asleep in the sun. This time that nap was accompanied by a dream that one person had faked their death and I happened to spot them in a crowd. Side note: yes, I’ve told my counsellor about this. Overall, the experience lasts more than a day and is both painful and cathartic. 

I say cathartic because I know the stress, the grief and the fatigue cannot simply take up residence in my body. For me, letting these things hibernate means a stiff neck, chest and shoulders. A previous rotator cuff injury makes a re-appearance. My lifelong effort to calm an anxious gut becomes difficult again. Though my demeanor is generally calm (a trait I inherited from my Mom and is not fake), it can sometimes fool me into thinking I am more okay than is true. And so, taking the time to really notice what I am feeling, shaking it awake and giving expression to it has become necessary for my overall health and longevity in my work. 

A mess of things happened on that dock at the beginning of August. But, as we often talk about at The Dale, messy is also beautiful. The sun remained in its place and shone down on me, the birds accompanied my prayers, and the life under the water continued its work. I felt comforted by the truth that the world keeps turning and aware of God’s presence. The smell of sunscreen and someone else’s BBQ evoked memories that made me grin. The releasing of emotion finally gave way to a good kind of tired. And then by the second nightfall I fell into a dreamless and deep slumber.

I am now in the latter part of my holidays. I am slowly feeling more rested. I wish I could write that my yearly Day 3+ experience is some kind of magic bullet that makes everything better. Grief, as I’ve learned, is not something that you “get over” but that you move through. Dismissing it, though it might feel easier in the moment, does not make it go away. I find that when I reflect on the person who is gone and allow myself to really feel the loss, there is mysterious space created for healing. Remembrance is an important act of love. And I’m glad to have been reminded of it.