I've been doing some "stuff" lately. Stuff that looks an awful lot like living. That can be all-at-once, thrilling and scary, gratifying and guilt-provoking. Regardless, it's been happening...more and more "stuff".
I recently decided that grieving is a lot like being reborn. I found that thought ironic because the beginning absolutely felt like an end, my own death in many ways. I was so confused by the fact that I took another breath after my son took his last. It was a new breath, a broken one, but a breath all the same.
So, in its infancy, grief looks strikingly similar to a newborn. You spend much of your time crying out and flailing about aimlessly. You see things around you but you don't comprehend them. You babble incoherently, and do vritually nothing to ensure your own survival. Essentially, as far as functoning human beings are concerned, you're useless. It's the people around you who contribute to your successes in the quest for survival, not you.
Well, currently I feel like a toddler. I'm figuring out that if I pull up on things and let go of ledges for just a moment, I can sometimes get places on my own. But, like most toddlers, I'm falling a lot during these first steps, and I anticipate many more bruises.
I talked to a friend today on the phone and told her as such and her responose was epic. She said, "well, welcome to toddlerhood. Don't lick the light socket." I laughed out loud, as I often do when talking to her and thanked her for the encouragement. She then added, "you know, it may only look like you're licking the light socket. Maybe you're actually plugging in the vacuum cleaner. But I guess, if you do that, you'll have to vacuum. I'll let you decide if that's a win." Yes, she's a genius, this friend of mine, and I love her for it.
So, as I stumble through my toddlerhood and likely fall more times than I walk, I am trying to remember that I have at least moved past infancy. And although I imagine there will be times that I revert back, I will have at least taken a few more steps along the way.
Maybe these next steps will be great ones. Maybe they'll be the ones that lead to running.
Then again, maybe I'm just licking a light socket.