Written by The thoughts in my mind are careening around like bumper cars at the local carnival. I can’t seem to focus on one thought for a breath before one of them spins off and bumps into three other thoughts.
My brain is at capacity. I have finally reached my limit of being able to manage the various responsibilities and expectations of my current life. My cup overfloweth, and not in a good way (like the time I filled my glass to the brim with wine), but more in an overwhelming way (like the moment I tipped that wine all over the beautiful white tablecloth).
It is more than just the to-do lists and tasks, the house responsibilities and pet caring needs. No, this is not simply an oh-my-goodness-I-have-so-many-things-to-do type of overwhelming. This is a deep and sorrowful reflecting-on-regrets-and-questioning-of-life type of overwhelming.
This is a deep and sorrowful reflecting-on-regrets-and-questioning-of-life type of overwhelming.
Death has brought me face-to-face with my deepest self, the self that I have been avoiding for too long. And now the bumper cars are lurching around at top speed.
It has been six months (six months, seriously?! I count again on my fingers… yes, it is true), yes, six months since my grandmother passed away. My heart still feels as if her passing was yesterday, the grief still a raw road rash on my soul.
I have not been able to grieve. I have been denied the opportunity to hug my father and cry into his shoulder, to see my cousins with tears splashing down our faces, a mixture of sadness and joy as we recount stories of nana between bursts of tears and bouts of laughter. And most of all, the opportunity to squeeze her hand one last time was taken forever from me.
This bumper car of regret continues to strike me, head on, at the most inopportune and unexpected times. Like when I am sitting in a work meeting and a colleague asks me how I am and I respond with a lie; instead of saying “I’m well,” I wish to say, “I’m a well of grief”. Or when I am taking a walk by the beach and I have to do a double-take because there is a woman sitting on a bench, observing the ocean; she is the exact image of my nana. I can’t hold back the tears.
This bumper car of regret continues to strike me, head on, at the most inopportune and unexpected times.
There are no words strong enough to express the deep heartbreak that I feel, and will continue to feel, for months to come. We are in the midst of a global pandemic. Lives continue to be taken, families continue to be separated. The reality that we find ourselves in is one of disruption, disconnection and, for some, depression. For me, I have felt all of those aspects at some point over the last six months, and will continue to live them for many more.
All I can do is sit in that space, in one of the bumper cars in my mind and allow myself to be slammed by other cars: moments of sudden sadness (a dream of nana that overcomes me) and moments of brief comfort (when my cat crawls onto my lap for a snuggle).
Life is not one thing and nothing else – it is everything all at once, especially right now, at this time. It is debilitating grief and an overflowing of missed opportunities, hugs not given, hands not held. And it is also an abundance of comfort, tears wiped away and words tenderly written.
Life is so many things, so many things that nana did experience and so many things that she will not. Here I am, with one precious life, without her, and I cry, and I rejoice. And in this bumper car of life, I have decided to live in honour of my nana. For this woman who gave me so much, who lives on within me, it is the least I can do.
In this bumper car of life, I have decided to live in honour of my nana. For this woman who gave me so much, who lives on within me, it is the least I can do.
Whit Munroe 