Since my grandmother passed away, I have suffered from so much feelings of great loss. But I have also dealt with this overwhelming feeling that I have nowhere that I belong. Over these past several week, I have spent both time alone, and time surrounded by so many family members, you cannot help but feel that strong connection.
Through this process of understanding what it is that I’ve, we’ve, lost, I’m scared we’ve lost more than we realized. We’ve lost the sense of family. Without Grandmother and Granddaddy here, the extended family has lost the physical ties that held us together and caused us to gather. This may have been the last time we will all have gotten together to hear stories of our fathers growing up, of how our grandparents, great-grandparents, and extended family grew up. The last time we all go through photos and school annuals, like we have for decades to, to remember what happened during the time the lens took the shot. There is more to loss that we understand, and it is sad that we are not aware of it more. That we end up having to fight harder for those moments to be together.
Losing a sense of belonging is a tough adjustment. Over these weeks with family, I’ve started to feel the longings of nostalgia. There are feelings of connection that I don’t feel always, that I feel cut off from too many people. I have a personality that puts me in circles within circles within circles. I love the crowd, I love the chaos of backstage at award shows and concerts, but at the end of it all, most of those connections don’t go beyond work, beyond networking, or beyond the exit signs.
Much of these feelings could be false, or from the wrong perspective. Don’t misunderstand, I have great people surrounding my life, encouraging me, and pushing me to be a better person, but for some reason I don’t feel connected like I did. I run into people that I have those connections with, but we don’t spend enough time together, we get busy, we move away, we fall apart. I don’t even know what it is I need. My roommate finds herself on the beach shores of the Atlantic Ocean, some people find peace alone with a cup of tea. The things I find my wholeness from, though, aren’t where I am now. I find it involved with music, or on the back of a horse as she’s racing a field in moonlight. I find it sitting in an open field staring up at every star in the sky. I find it more in conversation that I get excited about, and that the people feed me that excitement instead of smothering it. Maybe I haven’t had these in a while. Maybe I got them for brief moments in all my trips to Mississippi the past couple months, and their weight is pushing down on me.
I don’t know what I need to break this loss. The pain of it all is fresh, and time is needed to heal. Some scars will remain and burn on occasion, but for now, what is the medicine I apply to keep the infections from spreading? What are the tools I use to find my way back?