The Pursuit of Wisdom

Bit of a grief ramble …

Over 2 decades ago, days after I’d been told I couldn’t conceive, a stranger said to me, ‘cheer up love, it might never happen.’ The tears flooded out unbidden.

On December 19th 2021 less than an hour before I was told our Harry was dead I went into a shop (Matalan) for the first time after my first battle with Covid. I was so anxious and distressed, my oxygen levels were still low, I was scared I’d catch something else but aware I needed to get myself together to be able to lead Christmas services so made myself go in. And maybe somehow inside the tightly coiled anxiety was connected with Harry, in that way you feel you know something is wrong but can’t quite pin point what.

As I went round the shop 2 people were between me and what I wanted to look at, I said excuse me but they were busy chatting and didn’t hear. I walked all the way round to discover they’d moved a few feet and were now blocking me from the other direction.I thought I’d set a low bar, simple task to try and overcome the post covid anxiety and rebuild confidence (yes, strident Sonya had lost her swagger).

When I said ‘excuse me’ for the second time, one hadn’t heard me, started moving whilst talking to their friend and walked into me, then turned to look at me, shouting, ‘look where you’re going.’ The friend calmly said, ‘be kind, the lady had said excuse me.’I said, shakily, ‘thank you, I need kind, today is a struggle that you can’t see – you never know what’s going on in someone’s life.’ I doubt they’ll remember.

As they walked away I put my basket down on the floor and headed towards the door. The rising panic and welling tears felt unmanageable. I needed to escape. And then an echo from a mindfulness for Christians session run by the lovely Richard Peers whispered in my ear. Just breathe.

I stopped and slowly traced a square on my wrist, breathe in for one side, hold a side, breathe out out a side, hold a side. It felt like ages but was probably less than a minute.

Breathing and heart rate slower I picked the basket back up and picked up the gifts that I couldn’t reach before. The checkout was blurry through wet eyes.

And for months, since Harry died, I’ve not been able to lift my metaphorical baskets. The emotional noise, the obstacles, the fear have left me escaping to safety, leaving the baskets abandoned on the floor.

Recently I’ve been able to find the resources, echos of wisdom and experience from others. I can breathe, slower. Face the world through my tears and thank strangers for kindness. I am so grateful for the enormous amount of support and kindness I’ve been shown. People literally and metaphorically lifting baskets for me. Work colleagues carrying extra loads, school family embracing us as we tried, failed and tried again to pick up the ‘school’ basket.

I don’t really know why I’m writing this but those 2 moments seem somehow linked and have been like extra technicolour memories in amongst the blur of grief.Since Harry died some people have asked how they can pray for me/us: that we just breathe and continue to find kindness is probably the best I can answer.#bekind#justbreathe