– by Trysh Ashby-Rolls –
Propped up against a mountain of cushions and pillows, Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings playing quietly on the radio, I thank heaven for the modern convenience of a laptop. Three cats – a pair of black ‘n whites and one vociferous Siamese – keep me warm. It’s raining outside, which may have something to do with their sloth. Whatever, their purring cheers me on to write this piece and keep them in the pampered state to which they have become accustomed.
I remember the first laptop I bought in 1989. My friends in the writing business said I couldn’t possibly do a book without a computer. Contract in hand and about to move from Toronto to the Sunshine Coast – British Columbia, not Australia – a laptop seemed the way to go. Until then I’d typed essays and articles for periodicals, scripts for television and radio, the stuff of any freelance journalist, on a clunky manual or slightly less-clunky electric typewriter. Manuscript done, I’d spread it across the kitchen floor cutting out bits and pieces rearranging the order of words and paragraphs. Deadline looming and sometimes pulling an all-nighter, I’d type a final draft to send snail mail to the editor or take into the office to go over with my executive producer. Imagine that palaver with an entire book.
Looking back twenty-five years I see myself as still young, full of energy, piss and vinegar ready to take on the world at the peak of my career. Somewhere along the way since then old age has crept up and overtaken me. In mid-August I caught a weird flu from a friend visiting from China, which morphed into pneumonia that so far no course of antibiotic has fully shaken. Hence the looking back, taking stock, reviewing the good, the bad and the ugly days of my life.
Memories rise unbidden to the surface playing like movie trailers across my mind’s eye. I find myself laughing, crying, clenching my fists, watching each story as it rises and falls away. Regrets, yes. Disappointments, of course. But all told, I’m not displeased with the ordinariness – and occasional extra-ordinariness of a life well lived. This loss of my health is a temporary situation, I hope. Its impact is without doubt propelling me into a new phase, like a snake shedding its skin. I am in an in-between transition grieving what was, yet not quite ready to welcome whatever is next.
“Grief is the process that allows us to let go of that which was and be ready for that which is to come” wrote psychologist, Therese A. Rando, in her 1984 book, Grief, Dying and Death. That’s the purpose of grief – it helps move us on.
There are several models of grief that provide a framework for what to expect. The problem with five stages or seven steps or “just let yourself cry and you’ll feel better” is that grieving is an emotional roller-coaster not a strategy to be checked off until acceptance arrives and we’re done.
Grief affects different people differently. It is a highly complex process, albeit a completely normal response to loss. It takes time to heal, and everyone responds differently. It is part of being human, but we don’t have to go through it alone; we may need help to cope with the changes in our lives.
Here are a few resources:
Bereavement Helpline
www.bcbereavementhelpline.com/grief/
Coping with Grief and Loss
www.helpguide.org/articles/grief-loss/coping
Canadian Mental Health Association
www.cmha.ca/grief
Recover from Grief
www.recover-from-grief.com
