I feel sometimes you have to be with your process.
For me, that may mean getting a cotton facecloth, sitting down on my bed with my bedroom door closed and letting my emotions connect with my heart and grieve the desires in this heart that continue to live unmet, unfulfilled.
To cry and to lament what I want is not what I have.
And to express my sadness in that.
And the reality that right now, what God has given is what I have.
The tension of where hope and here co-exist together. The reality of the good and the tough tracks of life that we all live on at the same time, no matter the season. The inevitability of what it means to live actively in your waiting. And that this spiritual growth producer that waiting and longsuffering become in you continues with you, in every decade.
What is it about waiting that God deems so necessary for us as His children?
Why does it vex my humanity so?
I want things now but I’m guided to live in light of the yet-to-come.
My heart doesn’t always understand. My mind tries to make things logical, practical, strategic. My tears just know the wait has been long and ‘holding pattern’ feels like the answer that I keep getting.
Lord, I’m listening. Help me to hear the way you are speaking to me.
Modern poet Joekenneth Museau says, “People aren’t taking time to deal with their own issues because there’s always a distraction or something to take you away from what’s going on inside.”
I can feel things that need to be expressed in me before the words come. The tears are my indicators. I give them their propers. And respectfully move my logic and thinking to the backseat of myself and allow my emotions to drive me for as long as the good cry is needed, as long as it takes to truly out get it out.
I cry. I pause. I breathe. I cry again. Repeating this cycle, blowing my nose into that facecloth, embracing what the tears are helping me to do: deal with my life and what I’m feeling and what those feelings want to tell me.
Sadness isn’t bad. It’s a feeling just as joy is. I want to make space for my sadness. And to give my tears room to breathe.
Amazing how years after a loss, the grief can still be so debilitating & quite unexpected.
Reflecting and grateful for the pain.
It means I have loved.
“Grief is love’s souvenir. It’s our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.” ― Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior: A Memoir
Lady Antebellum. Yo-Yo Ma. Etta James. Bobby Womack. India.Arie. Quite an eclectic music mix. In my journey of grieving losses the melodies of these musicians helped me heal. I feel the grace of God as I realize mourning is not a one-size fits all experience.
2013: A Year of Loss
I lost much in a span of seven months. A beautiful 82 year-oldgrandmother named Lena Maewho I believed secretly had a superwoman cape hidden under her clothes. She was just incredible – laughter and love wrapped up into southern hospitality at its best. She was safe. She was human. And she was mine.
Ten days after my family buried her I was rear-ended by a driver who lost control of her vehicle. The collision totaled my car, which was given to me as a gift six years prior and paid for. The physical impact of the crash required six months of chiropractic rehab for my neck and spine.
The emotional trauma left me with diminished mental capacity, anxiety driving and a fragile heart that wondered “Why would God allow this much pain in such a concentrated way into my life?”
On the heels of these experiences, I also lost the opportunity to mentor children I tutored for three years at a local community center. The center closed due to low funding. Seeing the kids for the last time, I tearfully said goodbye and thought “This is not the way it’s supposed to be.”
Two more losses took place in 2013 – in the spring and at the year’s end – also pouring into this concentrated funnel of pain. My pastor of eight yearsresigned abruptly. Significant transitions were coming at my job and several people would be leaving following spring.
At times I couldn’t find words to describe the perfect storm of the grief I felt and the hurt that lingered.
When My Words Left
Music became my interpreter. It reminds me I’m alive – in all of its gritty blues, playful twang, honeyed rhythms and sweet succession of its sounds.
Music tells me I will sing again. And when my words left me, melodies took their turn to help me heal.
These specific melodies are my feelings – vulnerable, contemplative, transparent, gutsy and real. I believe when there are no words there is definitely a set of chords that will play the truth of the heart.
Grief silenced my words for a very long time. Music helped me find them. These songs gave me the gift of dreaming again. They aren’t specifically about grief but they amplify my emotions as I’ve discovered how to live from loss. I created my own “Mourning and Living” playlist from these songs:
Lady Antebellum’s “Somewhere Love Remains” is slow and purposeful. It’s full of acknowledgment and asks for pursuit in its hopeful country melody.
Yo-Yo Ma’s “Quarter Chicken Dark” is funky and bold. Its beautiful violin banters and airy moments welcome thoughtful considerations.
Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind Of Love” makes me want to put on a stylish dress, a pair of heels, go to a throwback classic soul dance party and slow dance with my man. It’s full of sass and soulful demands and beckons for love.
Bobby Womack’s “That’s The Way I Feel About ‘Cha” is bluesy and guttural. Full of belly wrenching emotion and truth. It encourages me to feel.
India. Arie’s “Life I Know” is storytelling in pure form. It’s beautifully raw and authentically simplistic.
Feeling God in Grief
God uses different things to help us in life. People sometimes. Places next time. Things this time. Music is my thing right now. And it’s helping me express my grief as I ache for people and experiences that have left my life.
Grief is hard work. It depletes you. It can be brutal. And sometimes people around you don’t know how to respond or help as they see you in the “valley of the shadows.”
When pain enters my life I often ask, “Where is God in all of this?” and “Why did he let this happen?” Do I say he’s a mean God because for whatever reason he permits though does not inflict upon us suffering and violence along with brokenness and traumas that seem to make our hearts break, our souls ache and cause our minds to shatter?
Or do I say he’s a gracious Father and a loving Creator who in the midst of all this hell breaking loose also permits and gladly offers us the celebrations, the gift to live and the choice to love, to hold close those we embrace and let go those we’ve lost but will never forget?
Deep Calls to Deep
Suffering is a part of living. God gives the gift of grieving to help our hearts acknowledge, “Yes, I have loved this person, this is how I loved them and even now I still do love them though they have passed.”
God’s grace towards me is tender as I mourn. The first few months after my grandmother died and the car accident I couldn’t read the Bible even though I tried. I had no mental fortitude to sit, focus my thoughts, read and internalize the words.
God met me where I was. He spoke truth to my heart. He gave me music to help me express my emotions. The God of the universe stepped into my grief – sobs, anger, depression, questions – and stays in it with me as he walks me toward healing. I’ve healed a great deal in three years and my faith in God changed. It’s deeper. It’s more human. Way more personal. I’m alive, I’m here, melodies and all.
After childhood, I ran only if somebody was chasing me. Running on purpose and because I liked it was not me.
But something happened in 2014. I intersected with Black Girls Run!, a national movement of women who meet weekly in different cities for exercise and community.
I discovered new sisters who trained with me, ran races alongside me, and cheered my every step and mile. There were women who’d lost nearly 100 lbs because they started walking and running with Black Girls Run! (BGR).
My first meetup in August was encouraging. I learned more about BGR Orlando as I walked through Jay Blanchard Park with my friend Jessica (who encouraged me to join) and ladies in the Eastside group. A week later, I joined the Eastside sisters for a run with BGR Melbourne. I did a three-mile walk and jog with new friend Beverly. It was the first time I’d ever done that kind of mileage.
But work and priorities soon hit keeping me busy and tired. For a year, I fell off the BGR wagon. September 2015 arrived and I decided, “Mel it’s time to get connected again.” I discovered a BGR meetup five minutes from my house, and life has never be the same.
From September to December 2015, I completed two virtual 5Ks, ran 83 miles, and walked 29. My speed improved as I moved into a 14 minute mile and sprinted 13 and 12 minute miles for short periods.
Melody became a runner. Melody is a runner. What the what!
January 24, 2016, in my hometown of Atlanta, I completed my first live race, the Hot Chocolate 5K/15K. It was 30 degrees and the course was hilly, but I beat my previous 5K time. I had one 12 to 13 minute mile, and two miles under 30 minutes. I also finished under 45 minutes, a new personal record for me.
This also was a huge milestone in life, PERIOD. Running changed me. It’s helped me see my determination and how much strength my soul contains. You have to be determined and strong, and maybe a little bit crazy to run outside ON PURPOSE in 30 degree weather.
A few days after the race, I read a hilarious article about a dog named Ludivine who accidentally ran a half marathon and came in seventh place. Ludivine inspired me to make plans for my first half marathon this year. I told Jessica and the following text conversation ensued:
Mel: “That dog ran a whole 13 miles and came in 7th place. That’s freaking amazing.”
Jess: “He’s a dog though. They love running.”
Mel: “You should be excited that I am inspired.”
Jess: “Teresa encouraged you, I encouraged you. But nope, the dog inspired you.”
Mel: “For 13 miles (that dog ran). And by the way he is a she.”
Jess: “I’m glad you’re inspired though. All dogs look alike to me. Until she puts a pink bow in her hair she will be a he.”
Mel: “Her name is Ludivine. She’s southern. From Alabama.”
Jess: “Looooooooooool I’m done.”
Jessica can throw shade on Ludivine all she wants, but I’m proud of her! And I’m excited to see where my 5K, 10K and half marathon adventures take me this year. I’m confident with my BGR sisters we’re gonna stomp plenty of pavement.
I’m limited and at times I hate the fact of this matter.
I hate that even when I want to push beyond my human limitations I cannot. Being human will always limit me whether I want to admit it or not.
My limitations came into play recently in sync with an anniversary in my life. Saturday marked two years since my grandmother died. Usually anniversaries are happy dates and wonderful spots in time that we celebrate and remember for the joy and laughter they bring us.
But the anniversaries of deaths are not happy. They hold nothing wonderful and joy doesn’t come out of us, but tears and sadness do instead.
I remember at my grandmother’s memorial service at the moment the casket lid was about to be closed, my Auntie and mama both leaped from their seats and ran to my grandma, tears in their eyes, touching the casket, touching my grandma and speaking their love for her in their sobs.
They knew this would be the last time they would see her this side of heaven. They needed to see her — one more time. Elders in the church understood as they spoke over them with love in those uncovered moments of grief and vulnerability, “It’s alright baby, it’s alright.”
I knew this was a significant moment and though Lena was my grandma, she was their mother. They knew her in ways I did not and their love, memories and grief for her would be unique and different from mine.
Anniversaries are hard when it comes to missing those you love.
Limitations coupled with those anniversaries are even harder. Last Wednesday I left Orlando for Atlanta for a three week work trip. I had great plans in mind and things in motion. Productivity and momentum were on my mind and success in my hands.
But Friday hit me like a ton of bricks by way of unexpected grief and sadness. My body was giving me a very real heads up that Saturday was an important day and I needed to remember why.
Grief comes in waves and it comes unpredictable. Time helps but doesn’t dissolve the loss. I found these words from the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization spot on:
The “sweet sadness” that arises when you remember your loved one “is simply the acknowledgment that significant loss has occurred. That the loss, and the person who is gone, matters and affects our lives.”
My grief feels disruptive right now. My sadness at times frustrates me. My plans for this work trip are being shaken up and I didn’t plan for this.
Two years after her death I continue to grieve my grandmother, in different ways. A friend told me once “we grieve deeply because we’ve loved deeply.” I agree with those words. They are true.
In our grief as humans we also experience the limitations of being human. We’re limited by forces beyond our control. We get slowed down by emotions and feelings that were put into us by God to help us cope with and navigate these valleys and meandering turns of life.
I want to embrace my limitations more. I want to see them for what they are and welcome them into my life.
I want to broken and be okay with that. I don’t want to hide my tears or put on my Superwoman bad a$# t-shirt. Today I choose to embrace my weakness, my sadness and my pain.
What a gift it is to feel pain because you have chosen to love someone who also chose to love you. That type of pain is unique and woven into hearts that want to love and are open to be loved.
What an unexpected honor it is to allow grief into your life as the friend you never wanted but absolutely needed. You need grief, with his sister mourning, to help you process your pain and express your feelings over the loss of that person in your world as you knew it to be.
I’m limited. I’m learning how to live in my limitations.
Melody became a runner. Melody is a runner. What the what!