You can force forsythias to bloom early once you bring them inside. But you can’t force the changing of the seasons, or the healing of a heart.

When I write about my own grief journey, I’m aware that it makes some people uncomfortable. The first thing that they want to say are words of comfort. But it’s not necessary. Really and truly, I am in a good space and have amazing support and love around me.

But why write about it? Why talk about my grief journey? Because there are many people who are struggling and afraid to honestly share their feelings and their journeys. Perhaps it’s because they were taught to always have a “stiff upper lip“ or to “keep calm and carry on”. Or perhaps they don’t have people who are able to handle the outpouring of feelings and emotions that wash over them as they grieve.

I have the luxury of time to grieve, one that I do not take lightly. My schedule is wide open as I decided to retire from my last job as a hospice bereavement counselor. I sense that there is more ahead for me in my profession some day, but for now, I need to do my own grief work. There’s just simply no rushing it. Anniversary dates, birthdays, holidays, memories that pop-up on social media… Each one brings a twinge, and a moment where I need to stop and feel.

Last week, I described to my grief group my process of feeling these deep grief moments. I said it was like skidding on black ice. I know from my years of driving that when your car starts to skid, you turn into the skid, not away from it. Once you feel the car going in the right direction, then you slowly steer back on course. And that’s what grief is like. When I start to get those feelings, I feel them. Deeply. Viscerally. Almost painfully. I acknowledge them. And then I gently help my heart, my body and soul, all move back towards the direction I was headed when they hit me.

If I suppress the feelings or tamp them down for too long, they pop up at the worst possible moments like a flat tire on the freeway, going 70 miles an hour. Sure, I can survive and get through it, but the crisis could’ve been averted. If I turn away from the feelings, it’s like going into a skid, and then into a spin because I don’t turn in to the grief, to the feelings.

You can’t force healing and happiness. You can’t pick the time and place that grief pops up. You can’t control it. But growth and change do come. Moments of clarity and courage to face the next steps and decisions make themselves known at the right time.

The forsythias on my windowsill remind me of the slow growth and change in my heart and my life. It’s not a pretty journey. It’s pretty raw at times, actually! As I tackle today’s work, today’s tasks, today’s memories… I do so with the knowledge that I have Divine energy and wisdom to do it. And I am blessed with family and friends for the road. And that is enough for the next steps of my journey.

Thanks be to God.