How do you transmute grief?

To transmute:

to change something completely, especially into something different and better.

I still remember when I lost my paternal grandmother. I felt physical and emotional pain so great that all I could do was wail as I tumbled down the hallway. It was agony. I couldn’t breathe.

I was alone in the house when I got the call. My physical reaction was shocking and will remain imprinted on my memory for life. I loved her so much that I’ve never let go of her. She was an avid bird watcher, and to this day every time I see a little sparrow, like the ones that used to eat scone crumbs at our table as we chatted over mugs of tea, I think of her. I convince myself that her soul is right there with me, in the form of those little birds.

How did that even start?

I remember feeling this sense that I should let her go, but I also remember the feeling that I couldn’t. That I didn’t want to. One day, as I sat in my backyard watching the birds find their breakfast in the grass, a bird jumped onto the staircase and looked right at me.

The rational part of my brain knew it wanted food, but the other part asked the question “What if that’s my grandmother?” I knew it sounded illogical, but it also felt right. This became my secret way to hold on to her. Now we sit together as I drink my mugs of coffee.

Then there is the story of my maternal grandmother.

Seeing my mother lose her mother was a different pain. The family gathered together at our home, and I remember us drinking wine and all breaking out into hysterical laughter as we shared funny stories about her. It was a surreal and strange scene. It helped that we were all together. It taught me that there is no “right” way to act when we lose someone.

The emotion has to be released somehow.

She was a devout Catholic and had always dreamed of visiting the Vatican. When I visited Rome, I went into a little chapel, off of St. Peter’s Basilica, and I “brought” her with me. I told myself that I made her lifelong dream come true. I like to think that she is still flying over Rome, in her happy place.

Is believing my two grandmothers’ souls are still with us madness, or is it simply the madness of a person who can’t let go? Isn’t that what our heart’s imagination is for?

I always rationalize that scientifically, energy never dies. I believe my both grandmothers’ energy is with me to this day.

How can you prove me wrong?

Grief comes in many shapes and sizes. Loss of a dream. A change in identity. Loss of a friendship, or communal grief. Loss of someone we love. It’s all - loss.

Grief comes in waves …and it can take so long to recover. Do we ever? Or is survival simply a matter of never letting the grief overtake us completely?

At this point my grief for both my grandmothers is a welcome friend that I sit with in my mind and heart. Any time I eat a specific food we used to eat together; I remember them. The scent of a rose, a soft sweater …can transport me to their homes. Remembering can catch you by surprise. And left behind objects on shelves helps keep them nearby. Is it healthy to keep all that stuff? I can’t imagine getting rid of it.

Recently, seeing what is happening in the world is confounding. The why of it? Not being able to process the news with any kind of logic.

Finding out personal news that is not fair. Anger over the lack of justice, the lack of control.

How do you process what you can’t understand?

There are the stages of grief. We’ve all been through them.

To transmute grief, we have to let it out of our body. It can remain stuck in our lungs. We may experience trouble breathing.

The complicated emotions created by the pandemic were stuck in my hips and in my lower back. I think I was in pain for two years straight. I got so used to it. I didn’t even have the energy to do anything about it. I tried on-line yoga but that never worked for me. I longed for the synchronicity and support of the group.

It was a Tuesday morning at a Katonah class this Spring that finally got it out. The euphoria I felt after deeply stretching and releasing with the support of a chair is immeasurable. I felt like I was floating as I walked home. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Like I was hovering above the sidewalk. A huge smile on my face. What a relief - to let that pain go.

Recently, with everything going on, I tried painting to process my emotions. It’s a creative therapy that I come back to regularly.  I’ve always loved it because sometimes there are no words to express what you are feeling. There is only color.

As I was writing this blog post in my mind over the last few weeks, I found this quote in a magazine. It so perfectly articulates what I experience.

“I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.”

- Georgia O’Keefe

As I was processing what I was seeing happening in the world, I made nine paintings over two days. I made a set of three small paintings that struck me specifically. When I looked back on them, they were a window into what I was feeling.

Painting helped me get the grief out of my body and onto the canvas. I looked back on these three paintings and saw my brain telling me that we are born into a world of chaos. It helped me process some semblance of a why.

I also used painting to expel my emotions when I had a health situation. Getting my anger out on to the canvas helped me get it out of my body.

By no means is creativity a cure all. Nor is movement.

But hopefully, with time, a good therapist, a great friend, journaling, a talented yoga teacher, and maybe even some paint; these things can all help move you to the next stage of grief. These things can help you let it out.

Even if you never really… let go.

“Grief is the price of love. Loving someone means that one day, there will be grieving. They will leave you, or you will leave them. The more you love, the more you grieve. Loving someone also means grieving with them. It means letting their pain and loss bleed into your own heart. When you see that pain coming, you may want to throw up the guardrails, sound the alarm, raise the flag, but you must keep the borders of your heart porous in order to love well. Grieving is an act of surrender.”

- Valarie Kaur

By: Angelique Gay