Rapids, Grief and Floating
When I was 14, I had a canoe accident.
It was summer camp and we received some instruction but generally were at the mercy of the river’s current which at the time was moving at a moderate pace. There were about 12 of us teenagers, a handful of leaders, some food and supplies, sunshine, wind and the river.
The day was beautiful. We splashed and raced each other and the cold water felt good in the sunshine.
As we neared the end of the trip, there were some small rapids and large boulders that we had to navigate. Our canoe spun sideways, hit a boulder, tipped sideways and we fell in.
The river was waist deep so when I fell, my knee hit a sharp rock on the bottom. The pain was excruciating. The current pushed me forward with one good leg to find my balance. I floated and hopped on one leg in an angle toward the river bank to try to climb out before getting too far away from the group. As I reached the edge, I grasped for anything that would stop me, but it was mossy and soft with only some weak, thin green branches leaning out. Finally, I let go of the grasping and floated down toward a large branch that had fallen down. I grabbed and hung on tight while the rest of the group ran towards me to pull me up onto the bank. I was exhausted and my legs were frozen from the glacier fed river. My knee was deeply cut and they wrapped me in a blanket and let me go sit in the back seat of the bus which had been warming in the sun all day.
Suffering, I believe, is like a river. It has a pace and speed that we can’t control. It happens when we least expect it and there is no way to prepare. Noone is exempt from suffering or losses and if one’s life is easy, their life is surrounded by others who suffer, mentally, sexually, emotionally, spiritually, physically, relationally, financially, etc., etc., etc.
When I was diagnosed with Endometriosis in my early 20’s and told it was a chronic disease, those rapids thrashed me! I scrambled to climb back into the canoe pretending that nothing had really happened. I wanted life to continue in the same way but it couldn’t. When I finally let go (after about 5 years, 3 surgeries and many appointments), and allowed myself to float with the current, and be curious about where it would take me, I began to understand what the “little griefs” are and how to accept them, work with them and let them be something that informs my journey.
I’ve learned the term “little grief” from someone, somewhere (and to that person whoever they are, I give credit!). The idea is that when we first learn we have a diagnosis or someone we love has died or we are deeply betrayed by someone, we experience GRIEF. And it’s huge! It is life altering! Then, over time, as we come to accept it, we no longer feel the large emotions that came with that initial loss. But we still have little losses or “little grief”. The doctor appointment we have been waiting for gets postponed = little grief. The graduation dinner we attend for our son has an amazing dinner but we bring our own liquid food in a jar because of digestion issues = little grief. We may be on so much medication that we can no longer drive so we ask others for help = little grief. We miss backyard bbq’s because of pain = little grief.
It has been in these little griefs that I hear God most profoundly. The little griefs hurt, not like a sharp rock to the knee in a cold river kind of hurt, but more like a small bump on the other leg. It’s enough to remind me that I’m floating in a river that I cannot control. Each little bump is a reminder that I am vulnerable, weak, need to be interdependant with others and surrendered to God’s love for me. There is a flow to the river that has a purpose, it is going somewhere and when we stop fighting it, it can even become lovely and interesting. There are sights, sounds and sensations that we will experience just because we are floating and not fighting.
I’ve become a chronic-pain-illness floater, and learned somewhat how to navigate the bumps, the little griefs and have gained some experience and muscle in this area. If you are feeling like you’re thrashing and fighting the rapids instead of floating and want to talk to someone about it, I’d be happy to talk with you. Let me know how I can help.
Float friends, float.