For nearly a full year, I have been absent from you, my blog-reading friends. My lengthy blogging-world absence is due largely to the busyness (and fullness) of my life these days. To be sure, it has been a time filled with so much more than I had ever anticipated! Among other things, I have had the privilege of sharing my story at this year’s “Let’s Talk Trauma”conference and Parkwood Institute’s “Acquired Brain Injury Education Series.” (Should you wish, you can see my Parkwood talk here: http://mediasite.otn.ca/Mediasite/Play/b7b89a9e2cc74d2194168a352e79303a1d?catalog=fd668812-d87c-47f9-b1ba-6d979fed9af4). Until quite recently, my recovery has solely focussed on relearning physical and cognitive tasks (from swallowing to talking, from walking to writing). But now, in these past few months, I’ve begun to come to terms with the loss I have experienced since March of 2014. Nonetheless, words, both spoken and written have been wonderful, even powerful, sources of wisdom.
One notable source of resonating words that has been of great help to me during this period has been Jerry Sittser’s book, “A Grace Disguised.” Sittser writes of his own experience of loss (his wife, mother and daughter were all killed in a drunk driving accident) and is quite appropriately subtitled “How the Soul Grows Through Loss.” Sittser, writing that no loss can ever be qualitively compared against another experience, writes of a type of loss he deems catastrophic loss. That is, any form of loss which turns one’s whole life on its head. (This definition goes on to include a myriad of things such as, any negative or de-habilitating news, a prolonged illness, a divorce, a mental illness or, even, prolonged unemployment). In his book, Sittser reflects on the different forms of loss, the affects of such loss and ends with an appropriate description of the ways in which that experience of such loss can empower one, even transform one’s soul.
One of the opening images Sittser (beautifully) uses to describe the experience of catastrophic loss, is that of a setting sun which, then, breaks into a sunrise. Sittser writes that “the quickest way for anyone to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise.” This image of plunging into the darkness, though at first a seemingly a contradictory action, is to chase the sun, by awaiting the sunrise. So too, does plunging into the darkness that is loss, eventually leading one into a kind of sense of contentment and peace. I like that. Certainly, that is what I strive to do.
