Moving Past Grief & Into Your Purpose
Ruby: “You look like Maria.” (Maria is my sister who passed away in October. Ruby is my adorable 4-year-old niece who’s been processing her death and talking
about her.)
Me: “Yeah. When we were little, people used to think we were twins even though
we’re four years apart.”
Ruby: (thinking…) “Oh! I know! Why don’t you be Maria?”
Me: “Hmm… but then…if I’m Maria, where would Gabi go?”
Ruby: (matter of fact..) “Oh, she would just die.”
Me: “Well then all these people…” (I point to my teen kids Ariana, Niko, & Lucas
who are listening to the conversation) “…would be very sad.”
Lucas: (Frowns and rubs his first in his eye pretending to wipe tears.)
Ruby: “Ha, ha! Lucas is doing this.” (She imitates him.) “He’s funny!”
Around the holidays, I’d been having a big old pity party all by myself here, mourning my sister Maria’s passing. I spent three solid weeks in December immersed in watching videos of her while creating a video anthology for the family. I’d wear her Calvin Klein turtleneck and her silver earrings to be close to her, to remember her.
I’d cling to her because that pesky devil kept wanting me to believe she never existed, that she was never here. And a tiny part of me started to believe that. But that’s nonsense. I have a lifetime of memories of her. We have her videos, her writing, her clothing and jewelry, and her beautiful brown-eyed doggies to prove she lived.
But when my mind kept grabbing on to her so tightly, focusing all my attention on her and who she was, and everything she did, I was losing myself. Ruby’s words were right on. And if I lose me, then everyone else loses me, too.
It reminds me of the famous line from the movie The Shawshank Redemption:
“Get busy living or get busy dying.”
On the airplane ride home after New Year’s in Dallas with my family, I was staring out the window, imagining Maria up in heaven looking down maybe, and saying,
“I did what I was supposed to do on earth. Now it’s your turn. Go create. Finish dazzling the world with what you’ve been given.”
That’s so like her to keep encouraging me to be great. She always did that with everyone.
Sometimes I get into these weird silent moments where I just stare into space and think of nothing. My mind then wanders to thoughts like, “I’m never going to finish the book I’m writing,” or “I miss Maria. Why did she have to die?” Or just no thoughts at all. I waste so much time doing nothing but staring off into space.
I caught myself doing that the other day but then I stopped myself. I’m being more intentional. It’s the New Year’s influence to break out of old yucky patterns and start fresh. I like that. Fresh. New.
It feels so good to turn the page, close the book to last year and open up a fresh new book with blank pages. A new adventure. But really, it’s not the new one that gets me excited. Okay, it is. But if I’m honest, a lot of my joy comes from being done with last year’s pain.
Horror really.
How else can I describe it? Seeing my brilliant, vibrant sister, my gorgeous, electric, super smart and amazing writer, off the charts algebra teacher, phenomenal photographer, a brilliant woman. My sister who loved and cherished me, mothered me, counseled me, mentored me in writing. All of that brilliance and love being slowly…what do you call it? Ravaged. Crippled. Devoured.
Her physical abilities were ransacked last year. That Stage 4 brain tumor stole her laughter, her voice, her ability to walk, think, remember, and write. It even tried to steal our beautiful relationship by giving her psychotic episodes where she’d think I was against her. But I know the “you don’t care about me at all” statements were a lie. Those accusations may have come out of her mouth, but it wasn’t Maria talking. It was The Beast, the tumor, some scared demon that got in there and hijacked my sister’s mind and body. Ugh. This is what I’m glad is over.
A week after Christmas, my brother David looked me in the eye and asked, “How are you?”
“Dull,” I said. “I have no joy. No brightness. Christmas was just there. I was going through the motions, pretending to be happy.”
Losing Maria, my Maui, my second mom, my big sister who was always there for me. That zapped my zest. Took all the color out of my life. The sharpness out of my pencil. Dull.
Then on New Years Day he said, “We really needed a new year.”
Those six words really resonated with me. Yup. He’s absolutely right. We really, really needed this new year. This one. To be able to move forward, out of the black sludge that we were walking through.
That sentence woke me up. It planted a little seed that said, “there’s hope and joy and love around the corner of December 31st.”
The new year lets us move on. Not to forget Maria. Or the beast of a tumor and how it ruined her. But to set it on a shelf. It’s still there.
But my new year lets me put The Beast away. I don’t have to keep it looking at it every minute. I can take it off the shelf to process or grieve and then I can close the book and put it back on the shelf. It doesn’t need to take over my life. I have a whole new clean and fresh path to walk. A new year to live.
So I’ve given myself some goals. No, not resolutions. I’ll just break those and be disappointed. Goals. Things I can reach for, plan out, and milestones I can chip off week by week. Like revising my book proposal, revising my book, and starting to blog more consistently.
And I’m excited because Maria gets to be a part of my new goals. I signed up for a new writing class that uses material from Maria’s writing teacher in LA – Jack Grapes. So as I walk the path she took to improve her writing, I’ll sharpen my own writing, and she’ll be with me in spirit. In a joyous way.
And yes, I am being intentional.
I’m gonna be the ME that God intended me to be.
And when life gives me an opportunity to cry and grieve, I’ll take it. That’s how grief works itself out – in waves.
For now, I’m thankful for a new year.
I don’t feel dull anymore.
I’m excited again.
Goals, dreams, and a new year can do that. Now all I need is the discipline and consistency to make my dreams and goals a reality.
Ready?
Set?
“Go create!
Finish dazzling the world with what you’ve been given.”
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