Week Three - Task #12. “Lantern of the Ashes”

[Katherine Laurier]

You walk alone now.

The others have faded behind, or perhaps ahead. Time is even slipperier here. You carry a lantern, but it burns low. The sky is gray, neither day nor night.

Ash falls like snow.

In this place, people don’t build altars or dance. They sit. They wait. They remember without words.

You find an old woman bent over at a hearth, tending a flame no larger than a candle’s tongue.

“Grief,” she says kindly, “must be fed slowly. Or it burns everything.”

She gives you a piece of charcoal. “Write what you still carry.”

You pause before pressing a black stick of the stuff onto stone. A word. A name. A wish you never spoke aloud. Then the fire accepts it.

A pumpkin above you shines dark red like a heart still beating among coals before you continue onward, somehow lighter than before.

Task:
In at least 125 words, share a lesson or some wise words about grief or any type of loss.

Alternatively, in at least 150 words, how do you take care of yourself and ease your mind and body during difficult times?

This task is worth 10 beans, with an additional 13 bonus beans for completing all Week Three tasks by end of activity. Deadline is 11:59pm (HOL time) on Friday November 21st.

[River Fenwick]

The most unfortunate lesson with grief or loss is that it's not something you get over. It's something you learn to live alongside, eventually getting back on a track many would call normal, but it never truly ends, only changes its shape. You can achieve a state of normalcy, but then something may come along that reminds you of what you lost, like a date that meant something to you about them comes up, or you get a whiff of a scent that brings you back to a memory with them, and the sense of loss begins to seep in again. It's an unforgiving cycle that repeats itself throughout our lives. It gets easier with time, but it doesn't change the fact that something is missing and can't be replaced in your life.

[Emily Spencer]

One of the kindest things you can do for yourself is to give yourself permission to grieve. I learned the hard way that always trying to be the stoic one, the one who never loses control, the one who everyone thinks is unflappable...it will only hurt you in the end. It's not a sign of weakness to grieve or to express that grief. Scream, cry, punch the pillow...whatever it takes. You may feel guilty of yourself for not doing enough, and guilty for feeling anger at the person who left, whether through their fault or not. It's okay; it's all part of the process.

That doesn't mean that you should wallow in your guilt and let it consume you. It's not an obsession, but a process. A very wise woman once told me that "people will cry with you for a little while, and then life goes on". Harsh, but true. Living with grief is a balancing act, and that's probably the hardest thing to accept. You won't ever forget your loss, not totally, but the raw pain will dull in time. It's okay to let it. Laughing, enjoying yourself, even feeling relief that you no longer have to be weighed down with the burden of it all, it's okay. It's nothing to be ashamed of at all! You have the right to go on living and enjoying life. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

[Kaylee Oatsong]

Hello,

One of the kindest things you can do to yourself is not to feel embarrassed or ashamed of grieving. DON'T. FEEL. ASHAMED. It doesn't mean that you cry because you're weak, but because you're sick of being strong, it's like if you lost a part of yourself after that loss. Always trying not to cry or not to zone out because of this would only consume you more. Always have a time where you cry until you just want to stop, until your body's tired of crying. You'll feel much better. You can even feel angry, perhaps even furious, but you have to lock yourself in a room, and do whatever you want in order to make you feel better. Try not to do anything dangerous though.

Otherwise, you can always talk about it to a friend, a friend you can trust, who wouldn't laugh at you. I always do that when something bad happens to me, and it feels like my best friend's like a comfort zone all the time. You'll feel a little better, they will maybe relate, or understand. Grief is always going to linger in your memory, you can't remove it, but you can always store it in the back of your mind. Family and friends would help you for that.

Kaylee Oatsong