For What Is Grief, But Love Persevering

A friend told me that they still have old voicemails from their mother who passed away a few years ago, and haven’t been able to listen to them again yet. Sitting in a similar boat as I am, this has been on my mind a lot during these past 12 months. I haven’t gotten a new phone just in case Mom’s voice would be accidentally lost in the transfer.  I wonder why there’s such a human compulsion for yearly milestones.  What they are in truth are markers of planetary motion around a sun, which is itself orbiting the center of our galaxy, which in turn is moving in a universe. One solar system year would be 230 million years to orbit once around our galaxy. Suddenly, the concept of earth years seems trivial.

Anyway I kind of had the idea that once the earth had completed one orbit around the sun, I’d be able to listen to my mother’s voicemails. For sure they are mundane, maybe talking about the weather and how was your day and ending with “talk to you later.”

In medical school, we learned the dominant teaching about grief as comprising five stages.  It prescribes a step-wise progression, at the end of which is “acceptance.” The DSM says that if you still have difficulty moving on at this magical one earth-orbit mark (or ½ an orbit for children!) you have a disorder. As if moving on, linearly, is the only way.

Denial, anger and bargaining haven’t been part of the picture for me. In her last couple of weeks, morning-to-afternoon she changed, so there was no time to worry, anticipate, remember, or even think. It was being fully present in a way I never imagined could be possible. My brother got on the first flight out instead of waiting three more days as had been the plan. We had to be in acceptance because there was no time, and so, through her last breath and since, we have been in acceptance, but acceptance doesn’t mean resolved and “moved on” as in a closed book. Instead, it’s been moving in small currents and eddies, memories both innocuous and heavy popping up randomly anytime and anywhere, bringing with them happiness, haunting, guilt, wishing, wanting, love.

Long story short, who knows when I’ll be able to hit play on those voicemails. Maybe never. But her voice hasn’t receded and I can still hear her how she says hi on the phone, or give helpful pointers about making kimchi, or wish me a happy birthday. And for that, I am infinitely grateful.