Once upon a time, I wrote a bit about grief guide suggestions. It is short (no audio) and you may read it here if you’re interested.

I really do need a grief doula. I believe myself to be ready. Ready to wade trudge sludge through and get these feelings their appropriate recognition and out so that I can move forward and better support SonHerisme. Currently, I am failing hard at this. Being forced to be home this past year has allowed depressing weighty acknowledgement of how much I have allowed things which do not serve me well into the central existence of my life. I am existing. I am not living. I most certainly am not thriving. All of this has exhausted not only me, but also what is remaining of my dwindling community of support.

This is why animals, nature, and children appeal to me so very much. They all provide comfort, creative encouragement and reciprocal acceptance, reverence and support with few demanding expectations. SonHerisme is growing into his teenager times, so this is changing for his loves and needs. However, it seems like he does need more of me again, much like toddler times. Push mommy away, but need her even more and immediately for exact things mommy doesn’t know about and has to decipher with verbal guessing games or communication methods other than words.

My point is that I want to process my grief in a more productive way. No, wait. My point is that I want to laugh and giggle and live life. Wait. My point is that I am restless and will be working on finding some other path to walk. Hopefully this is not fleeting springtime shenanigans which come to nothing other than more shame and heartbreak as I continue to do nothing but scramble through each day.

I like skipping rocks. I am terrible at it, but I like the idea of it, so I do it and I am okay with not doing it well. I like to walk to the waters. I like the smells of the water areas (except low river in the unbearably dry hot summer – nah, I’ll go even at stinky time). I like the drinking of the beverages I brought with us to enjoy by the water areas. Maybe my path with be something like that. The only thing missing are more giggles because this down time also allows the alone pain to be fully felt.

I know that I am supposed to be present and filled up to ecstasy with the overwhelm of the natural universe and stuff. This is … difficult … when you are also filled with awareness at how short our existence is in this iteration as we know it, and the most coveted experiences of this lifetime are mostly out of our hands. It doesn’t matter how clever, kind, hardworking you are – some things are just never going to be for this consciousness. It is hard to accept and be okay when the messages being sent out are telling us that IF ONLY we love ourselves more/love others more/appreciate the sunrise correctly/find and follow our passion/manifest well/meditate the right way and long enough *sigh.* I’m not convinced of any of that. I think all of those things can be helpful for coping with the reality that some of us will never have some of the basics of what we truly desire. We just will not. I think I’ll just be sad about that anyway.

I do not have the lovely intangibles I would like in this life and it looks more and more certain that I never will. I do not think it is because I don’t look up at the stars and appreciate them enough (I do) or the sunrise (I do) or take nature walks and smell the spring coming or the snowstorm approaching (I do) or weep at divine music or exquisite works of art (I do). I just think it is. Some things are shitty and that’s that. No amount of changing myself or my perception of cloaking it in loveliness is going to change the shittiness of whatever it is which stays outside of my grasp.

So I need reconciliation support, I suppose. A grief doula who is okay with things being shitty and can guide me into being okay with it as well, rather than fighting against it all of the time as if anything I do or do not do, makes a fuck all bit of difference (it doesn’t except to get me through the day). I need to do this to help SonHerisme. He needs me to show him how to do this in case all of the lovely intangibles stay out of his reach too.

Doula up, cowboys – let’s dump the stuff that’s holding us back and hit this path English saddle style with WildCat Kelly (maybe he is a grief doula too).

I am tired. Grief doula, where are you?

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. I wrote about this before, in 2016 – weirdo