Gifts of Loss
Several months ago I wrote about the death of one of my loved ones. A teacher and angel messenger in feline form. The waves of grief ebb and flow, as does my awareness of her absence. What I've recently keyed into, though, relates to the gifts offered to me directly resulting from losing her.
About eleven years ago I became pregnant and experienced a miscarriage. Except for a short stint, as a very little girl, I never aimed to be a mom. When I discovered the pregnancy, my entire being fell into stunned disbelief, followed by a trip to a different drug store, in another town, to buy a different brand of pregnancy test. Still turned up pregnant.
For just over three months, I walked a path of interest, confusion, and emotional discomfort - my head spinning with every belief I'd ever held about what it meant to be a mother. I felt I'd never be just myself again. Now I would always be someone's mother, instead of me. The notion of being both me and a mother, as a possible truth, simply didn't enter the picture.
Then about ten days after we shared the news with my step-children and a few friends (abiding by the "wait three months to tell rule"), while my husband traveled for work, I learned that my pregnancy had self-terminated. Despite my reluctance to become a parent, I felt a deep sadness.
This loss stirred dis-ease for both me and my husband, and the following months were tortured for us. For me, the loss and strain on our relationship were only pieces of the pie. I learned that the nonviable fetus could become a threat to me, the host, and even after a standard surgical procedure to evacuate any foreign matter from my body, I remained at risk.
I entered a phase of highly active survival mechanisms. The loss of potential motherhood tumbled way down my priority list, and my health took center stage. The actual invasiveness of the remedy was minimal: a variety of tests, a few chemotherapy treatments, and about year of weekly blood tests. In the scheme of what could have been true, this was a blip. And yet, the space all of this took up within me felt vast.
On some level, my stability was threatened on every front, and I fought back - until I didn't. And when I didn't, I became curious. In the open crack of curiosity, I began to grow into me more than I ever had before. The loss and threats of loss - once I stopped fighting - became great opportunities for learning.
For many years prior to this series of experiences, friends, family, and strangers told me I should become a coach or a therapist. I refused - absolutely! There was no freaking way I was ever going to do THAT for a living. And then, when my life turned upside down, I got interested in what I might be doing here on earth. Clearly mothering was not my calling - and to this day, I regularly express my gratitude for the wisdom of the universe to know this truth.
So, what, then? I'd been selling real estate for years. In a creative fit, I added a sideline business of organizing homes and small businesses. While capable I might have been, soul satisfied I was not. With guidance, I looked within to see what might be calling me. If you're reading this, you know I finally surrendered to the messages I'd received (and rejected!) for years.
Now, all these years later, with the loss of my sweet Bobbi, I can feel another deep turning happening within. I suspect this will not yield another major career change, rather this feels to be a shift within the realm of my spirit cells. Like riding a wave, I am allowing myself to be carried wherever this may take me. Okay, well, I'm human, so I fight and struggle against the occasional wave, and then I catch the next one, and ride it out. Still, I feel interested in both the journey, and where it may lead!
In the years since the miscarriage, there have been any number of losses, and each presented unique gifts to me. I feel deep gratitude for lessons these "turning point" experiences have bestowed upon me. And while I don't relish the next bereavement, I trust that riches I cannot possibly foresee from this vantage will reveal themselves, and afford me an even more abundant life.
Okay, this is a little bit funny, but as I'm wrapping this up, this thought comes: "Each loss is simply another transition. For both the entity that has ended it's current way of being, and those who grieve the loss. Transitions...I've been through many. Oh, right, THAT'S why I offer Transition Coaching." Sometimes the obvious cracks me up!
May your life's losses bring you great gifts for growth and abundance. And if you get stuck, reach out for support. We are not meant to do this alone. If we were, there wouldn't be so many of us.
With love,
Joanne Lutz