On Grief

There is no literal translation for the word grief in Spanish.

I discovered this recently as I was having a conversation with Mami. I explained it as a deep sadness associated with some kind of loss. I described it to her one morning as she drove me to work, “Es una tristeza profunda conectada con algún tipo de pérdida.”

Growing up bilingual with parents who were learning English at the same time as me meant that I spent a lot of time translating. I found a lot of words that didn’t have literal translations in Spanish and so I learned to describe them. I provide function, location y “parecidos” until I make myself understood.

I furthered how the loss is not only associated with death or passing, but how it can arrive with the loss of a relationship, the loss of a routine or sense of normalcy, even the loss of who we thought ourselves to be or who we thought we might become.

The most common translation I could find online was “duelo”, a variation of the word for pain. Which makes sense because there is deep pain in grief as well. The kinds of losses that leave us grieving often excavate pieces of our insides in ways that will require slow healing and eventual rearranging. The process is not pretty. But the artists in my life have taught me that there is much art to be made from pain. Beauty that can be uncovered and collaged from the rubble of what no longer is.

I can’t help but to think about the Yrsa Daley-Ward’s poem that reads:

“You will come away bruised
but this will give you poetry.

The bruising will shatter
The bruising will shatter into
black diamond.
No-one will sit beside you in class.
Maybe your life will work.
Most likely it won’t at first
but that
will give you poetry”

We are in a time when nothing is quite what we thought it would be. Relationships are hard to forge and even harder to sustain in the midst of a loneliness pandemic. Nothing is normal anymore. And we are all figuring out who we need to be to hopefully do a little more than just survive.

On the worst of days, the anxiety constricts my chest with such force that it feels hard to breathe. On the best of days, I can remember and believe that there always has been and always will be hope.

Tonight I added some pictures to my journal. An American Robin that let me get close. A chipping sparrow sitting on a branch of a flowering dogwood tree. I looked up fun facts and wrote down my favorite ones. I added stickers all throughout my musings. I scrapbooked these pieces of my walk through nature with no expectations and the soft reflections gave me a childlike joy that my soul ached for.

So friend, if you are reading this, I hope you can do something joyful for yourself today. I hope you can return to some of the things you loved as a child and have forgotten how to make time for. Or perhaps the world convinced you that there was no longer space for these loves because you are an adult now. Whichever it is, be counter-cultural, and do the thing.

Read the book. Sketch the inspiration. Color the pages. Take the walk. Dance it out. Play the video game. Scrapbook the memory. Visit art. Make art. Do the thing that your soul needs most.

Because grief is heavy. It sits with us all and the best thing we can do is learn how to make art of it. Learn how to cultivate joy through it. For your sake. And for the sake of the world.