By Irene Conlan –

It hit 110 degrees yesterday and going to be hotter today. It’s just too hot to do much of anything.

I look at the yard with its drooping flowers and drying grass and know I just can’t go out there to water it. It’s too hot to do that, anyway – it will simply scorch it and kill it for certain. Maybe when it cools off tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

The air conditioner pumps furiously but somehow it just doesn’t seem to make me feel energized. I don’t want to do anything.

I don’t want to clean.

I don’t want to write.

I don’t want to work.

I don’t even want to play.

It’s just to hot.

My thoughts are with my beloved and how much I miss him and want him to be here with me. It’s been several years since he died but the loneliness doesn’t seem to leave and the hole in my heart doesn’t seem to heal. I’ve done my “grief work.” Understanding that the only way out is through, I have gone “through” – it is better. I can fully function now, but the hole and loneliness are still there.

But it’s even too hot to grieve.

Grieving takes a lot of energy. It uses up your resources – mentally, emotionally and physically. There are some things that I’ve found, however, that lighten the load, move me forward. and help me get over the hurdles that I find in the way.

I have come to understand that the way I feel is my choice. I can choose to be happy or I can choose to be sad. I can choose to be content or I can choose to be angry. I can choose to have a celebration or I can choose to have a pity party. I have learned that my happiness does not depend on anyone else – it depends entirely on me and the choices I make. I can also make choices about my grief.

Recently I saw a You Tube clip of Dr. Patch Adams addressing a crowd. He was dressed as a clown and he encouraged each member of his audience to think about the joy in their lives and he said “If you can’t think of any joy, I want you to lie.” I agree with him about that. (See the center video in the right column)  I’ve always been a stickler for telling the truth but in this case I think a lie is in perfect order. If I think about my loss, I can make it bigger and more painful, longer lasting. If I think about what he brought to my life – the love, the raucous laughter, the absolute joy, the spiritual expansion – it is easier to be grateful for what I had than sad for what I lost.

I don’t know how this applies to “new grief” when just breathing seems too hard and every day brings more pain and awareness of the deep loss. I think that in the beginning, you have to do what ever you can to keep your head above water like someone who is drowning. You cry, flail about or just go limp and float, until you can get a foothold again. I remember just putting one foot in front of the other trying to make it through the day and dreading the long sleepless night. At this stage you find someone to talk with, lean on, trust to be there with you on the grief roller coaster and you keep on keeping on. And when you are able you take time to focus on the positives in your life, no matter how small they are right now, and make conscious choices to feel better.

For some time now I have, every morning, listed five things I’m grateful for or that bring me joy and I have taken time to reflect on a positive experience I have had. I try to be aware of my moods and make conscious decisions about how I feel if the moods seem to go in a negative direction. It has an amazing effect on my day, making it sparkle rather than drag. It has helped me with the loneliness and the hole in my heart. And it makes things not only bearable but also joyful.

It isn’t to hot to be joyful.

But it is just too hot to grieve.