03/26/2026
Death and grief have been continual nagging motifs in my environment since the middle of February. The thought that life could end at any moment; the fear of losing people in our lives; trying to soak up everything in life before our time is up... I've been wanting to make a post about it. I even started one that just became too much, so I dropped it. Today, it's eating at me. Too many people are bringing it up to talk about, and it makes me want to finish what I started.
We'll all go through it- the heartbreaking, gut wrenching, soul crushing pain of grief. It could be anyone in our lives- a spouse, a sibling, a parent, a child, a friend... Before we ever experience it for ourselves, we don't realize how messy the grief cycle is, how nonlinear it is, or how it can totally change us.
When I lost my dad in 2023, I was getting ready to work on an elective course for my Masters- Emotions and Expressive Art. Originally, I figured I'd do the general "happy/sad/angry" type of emotions. I sat staring at a blank page every time I'd try to start. For 3 months after my dad died, I couldn't even conceptualize what I wanted to do, let alone put the pencil to the paper. Then one day I just let it be. I let myself just feel what I was feeling and let it flow through me. I drew a picture of a woman screaming. It was the only thing I wanted to do since I had lost my dad, and I wouldn't physically let myself do it because I didn't want anyone to hear me. Then I drew in a woman with a hole in her chest, staring at the raging storm before her. Left in the sand behind her was her heart, turning to stone and breaking. Lastly, I drew in a woman covering her face, both trying to prevent herself from seeing what was happening around her and to keep others from seeing her anguish. "The Heavy Hollow" took me 4 months to complete. The longest timeframe any picture I've ever drawn possesses. It was the external representation of the turmoil inside of me that I wanted to unleash and couldn't. However, once I was able to get it out on paper, something shifted.
For a short time after finishing my initial picture, I felt a release. I felt renewed in a way, even though I still had that hole in my chest. "Tranquili-tree" was a gentle version of the phoenix rising. In my lack of experience of such a devastating loss, I thought I was coming out of my grief. What I soon realized was that I was only experiencing the beginning of a lull on the roller-coaster of the grief cycle.
I was working on a new picture when all of the sudden, in an unexpected burst of energy, I was angry. Tunnel-vision angry. It came out of nowhere and demanded to be expressed. In a fury of 2 hours, I completed "Tunnel-vision"- a whirlwind of chaos. I wasn't feeling the emotion, until I was, and I couldn't experience anything else until I moved through it. As soon as I was done with the picture, the emotion left, and I was able to continue on with my next picture.
The picture that I was working on when anger bursted in was "Inquiry". It was a depiction of my search for knowledge into PTSD, emotional expressions, adrenal fatigue, and so much more. It was a search for any information I could find that could have helped me with my dad, with my own issues, and to figure out how I could help others change their lives by understanding their bodies. Maybe anger reared its ugly head during this picture because I was mad at myself for not having the answers to save him. Maybe I was angry because the doctors couldn't help him. Maybe I was angry because I had to live without him. Whatever the case, it all led me down a rabbit hole in holistic health that was deeper than anything I've ever experienced, and I had a passion for it. I wanted to share it with others.
By sharing my newfound information with others about adrenal fatigue and feeding our bodies the things we keep depriving them, I felt "Fulfilled". I felt like I was doing exactly what I was meant to with my life. I felt divinely driven to help others so that they didn't go through the same thing I was going through, or so that they could atleast help themselves through it so that it didn't hurt them as bad. I was hopeful and, despite my heavy heart, I was happy I could be of help to others. However, the happiness was short lived and fleeting.
Though I had survived my dad, I didn't feel alive. A part of me had died with him. I felt like I was constantly trying to shock myself back to life. I was forcing myself to laugh in situations I thought I should and smile for the benefit of others. The world was full of color and life all around me, and I was a suspended co**se. "The Living Grave" represented all of this in one still frame. There was life and vibrancy just beyond my personal rain cloud, but I wasn't looking at it, and I couldn't touch it. I came to realize that we can find ourselves in circumstances where we force ourselves to live even when we feel deprived of life. That's when I came to the understanding that sometimes when we don't feel like living for ourselves, or we don't feel like we have a purpose, we live our lives for others.
There are so many organizations, foundations, groups, etc. for various different reasons all over the world. I have to believe that many of them popped up from the minds and hearts of people who want to ease the suffering of others, and to help prevent the beneficiaries from feeling the same pain the founders experienced. I didn't start anything grand in the name of my pain, but I did notice that I was doing something I've never done before. I was reaching out to others and giving compliments for no other reason than to make them feel good about themselves. I found myself telling people how I felt and saying, "I love you" or, "I appreciate you" way more often. I had found that in my pain, my heart had broken open and I was pouring out love. "The Cooling Waters of Passion" depicted one's own heart on fire with a passion to do good in the world to make a difference, while they hold out their heart and let their soul flow out to soothe the pain of another. The song "River Flows in You" by Yiruma comes to mind and I believe that is because the energy that flows through us and animates us (Source/God) becomes a healthy and steady stream by being in service to others in some way. It felt good and I could rest in it.
Sometimes we can't rest though. Sometimes we feel on guard, especially when we feel like we're becoming too vulnerable. Sometimes we have to make ourselves be brave for our own sakes because we don't feel like anyone else can protect us, or we don't want them to. "The Warrior" was an alter-ego that sometimes I forced myself to be. I had to protect myself from the overwhelming feelings I had within myself, protect my children from seeing me totally falling apart, and protect my family from any burden they were feeling from the loss of our patriarch. She was always at the ready; standing still and always observing. "The Warrior" was protecting my heart, and helping me become stronger.
When I was nearing a year after the loss of my dad, I started feeling myself a little more. I started getting back out in nature again and enjoying it. Maybe to some extent I was trying to escape the world to feel simplicity again, but in a way, I could start feeling my rough waters starting to calm. I was becoming more present in the moment and my life."Open Waters" was the calm after the storm. The reorganization of the pieces of my life, and trying to reclaim the parts of me that I was before I shattered. Despite still feeling "The Heavy Hollow", I was starting to find moments where I could actually feel happy.
"Radiance" shows up naked in a peachy glow. She has dropped her mask and her defenses. She is happy and laughing with an open heart. It had taken me just over a year to get to where I could start feeling emotions without my heart breaking open and driving me into sadness. Although I still could feel "The Heavy Hollow" for another full year after this collection was completed, I could also tell I was able to feel all of my other emotions more as time passed. One day last fall, I could feel the heaviness leave me all together. That's not to say that I'm not still sad at times, or that I'm fully over the loss. There have still been random times where I'm hit suddenly by a song, or by looking at too many pictures of my dad. It hurts all over again, but I'm not living in it like I used to.
There's a common misconception about grief that there are stages that you go through. Like a check-list of things we have to accomplish to get over someone, or that there is a time-line of 6months to a year for a healthy grieving process, but nothing more past that or you're dysfunctional. I've come to realize that grieving is messy. You might be happy for a moment and plunge into absolute despair the next. It may take you a year to get over someone, or 20, or maybe you'll never really get over losing them because they were a part of who you were. Grieving isn't just about the loss of the person we loved, but also the loss of the version of ourselves we were when they were still here. Like a caterpillar, we might just completely destroy ourselves within the container of grief and have to fully reconstruct a new version of ourselves that can survive past our death to ourselves. I know that I am not the same person that I was when my dad was still alive. As much as I miss him and that version of me, I can feel that new growth and I can be glad for the person I became from it while appreciating what I didn't allow myself to become.
I believe we all go through some version of what I shared here, and I hope that this long drawn-out (no pun intended) discussion of my experience can help you. Even if it just makes you feel less crazy and alone. I invite you to share your own experiences in the comments. Thank you for taking the time to read through this. I appreciate you.
