I grew up in Norco, La., a small town west of New Orleans There was a woman in our town whose name was Miss Makabot. Most of the children in the town were afraid of her because we thought she might be a witch. She was a strange-looking figure who haunted my dreams. She wore black clunky heels, black stockings, a plain black dress, and covering her grey hair was a black bandana folded into a triangle and tied on her head. Her skin was sallow and wrinkled and I think she had a pointy nose.
When I’d see her coming down the sidewalk I’d run to
the other side to avoid being anywhere near her. She never did or said anything
to make anyone afraid; it was her demeanor that scared me. The darkness of her
clothing and her dour expression reminded me of death.
I woke up Wednesday morning and for the first time in
almost sixty years I thought about Miss Makabot. What I realized as I
recalled her demeanor was that this woman was probably in mourning for a dead
husband. Back in those days widows dressed in black for a year or two as a sign
of grief for the loss of a loved one. Some wore black for the rest of their
life, as did Miss Makabot.
That was a time when people seemed more apt to go
through the grieving process, instead of around it. They took their time in
grieving their loss and literally wore their sadness for all to see.
The last twelve months has brought a lot of loss into
my life. I lost my home and land, which I loved, nurtured and cared for, my cat
who was my constant companion for sixteen years died, some family relationships
that I held dear crumbled before my eyes, and I finally took off and gave up my
rose-colored glasses of idealism. These things are all gone and I had to
experience the loss in my life.
Being with my grief and processing it has taught me a
lot. I’ve learned:
2. As I continue in the process, the more I see and
feel the wellspring of joy that is bubbling within and making its way to the
surface. It reminds me of a poem by Rumi:
I saw grief drinking
a cup of sorrow.
It’s sweet, isn’t it?
Grief said, you put
me out of business.
How can I sell grief
when you know it’s sweet?
a cup of sorrow.
It’s sweet, isn’t it?
Grief said, you put
me out of business.
How can I sell grief
when you know it’s sweet?
I have finally gotten to the place where I am tasting
the sweetness of sorrow. The sweeter the taste, the easier it is to give myself
fully to it. Grief is not something to ignore or deny: rather, it is the
gateway to true joy in being. Not the feeling of thrills and excitement that
generally accompany happiness, but joy deep in my gut.
3. Giving myself over to the grieving process is what
I call dying while I’m living. I get the experience of letting go and moving
into the light.
The more I allow myself the gift of grieving , the
lighter my life and vision gets. As I release my losses to the wind I sense the
time is drawing closer when I will shed my mourning clothes. Until then, I’m
giving myself over to the process.
Thank you, Miss Makabot for visiting my consciousness on
Wednesday morning. Sixty years later I understand that the process of grieving
loss is not something to fear and to run from, but that it is necessary and
good.
From The Seeker’s Guide by Elizabeth Lesser
“Grief is a river running through the heart. I know
that if I block the way, the water dams up, builds pressure, and spills over,
making me sick, or hostile, or tired. Grief turns into joy when we get out of
the way, let the river flow, and wait for the water to settle and clear. It’s
that simple, and that difficult, and that magical.”
