This morning, grief hit me swiftly.
Grief started creeping up on me yesterday, but I ignored it. I pushed it to the side. I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I was being stubborn. I didn’t want to cry.
But as I sat down for my Friday meditation, grief was having none of it.
I dialed in to my weekly meditation call, announced my name, muted myself, sat, and immediately, the tears started rolling.
My teacher welcomed us. My tears kept rolling.
Before starting our sit, my teacher shared thoughts on dealing with “This is never going to end” mind. I listened, and my tears kept rolling.
“Let’s settle into our bodies,” she said. Still, my tears kept rolling.
“Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel gratitude that you are taking the time to engage in this practice of meditation,” she said. Still, my tears kept rolling.
“Remember,” she said. “If at any point meditation becomes too much for you or your feelings are overwhelming, you can focus somewhere neutral, like your hands or your feet.”
But my mind didn’t want me to seek shelter in my hands or my feet. My grief was determined to be acknowledged. It needed to be wholly experienced. Otherwise, I knew I would stay in this grief.
So I sat, and I cried.
As the meditation ended, my teacher brought us back into the room. She asked each of us how we were feeling.
“I’m so sad,” I said. “I’m just so sad.”
“Did your hands and your feet help?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to go there,” I answered. “This was a grief that demanded to be seen and heard.”
We talked some more, and slowly, some of my grief subsided. The ache in my chest lessened. My breathing became deeper, fuller.
My teacher reminded us that grief is like a wave. It may come crashing down, but it will always recede. It’s part of the human experience. Just as we have great days, we will also have grief days.
Today was my grief day.