Curtains

I’ve officially been practicing therapy for 10 months. I’ve also been a hospice social worker for about that time as well. I feel as though it is an honor to walk with individuals through their journeys, whatever path they may be on.

I now help facilitate a grief support group and I just have a couple of thoughts.

This week in group, someone posed the question, “How do I know I have made it? How do I know I have become a better person through all of this?”

My response went along the lines of something like this:

“I don’t think I’ve become a better person per say. My perspectives have changed over the last 5 years. My grief has been like sitting in a room with blackout curtains. At first you’re so strained to see any meaning, light, direction, or purpose. Over time, I felt like I’ve been able to replace the dark curtains with curtains that offer more warmth, more light and brightness, and little slivers of positivity.”

I wish we could just be healed from the extreme sadness of losing our loved ones. It’s a pain that will always linger. I don’t believe there will ever be a moment that I feel like, “ oh, yep. I’m over it. I’ve finally made it.” And neither do I want to be. I feel like it’s an honor that I get to have this opportunity to be reminded every day of the love and connection I had with Caleb by being a hospice social worker and therapist.

This is why I do this work. I feel like I have taken a really horrible situation and become someone he can be proud of. I feel that’s what brings me purpose at the moment.

For those in the dark, I see you. I empathize with you. It hurts. Search for the slivers of light.

Love,

Marissa