The myriad shapes of grief (and joy)

More writing therapy for you

Dear Global Jigsaw,

Thank you for the many introductions in 10-and-half sentences that you shared, both publicly and in private messages, in response to last week’s post. It was beautiful getting to know some of you better, and I especially loved the points of connection, like when someone confessed that they too were mild and considerate with their friends but short tempered and grouchy with family. I feel less alone. The sentential cliff-hangers at the end have my curiosity piqued high!

In a part-2 of sorts, this week’s newsletter is comprised of a duo of listicles, combined with an exhortation for you to try your hand at your own versions.

We tend to think of emotions as feelings. But these feelings often take physical shape. In the last two years, I have been diagnosed with cancer, lost my mother very suddenly, and had my cat, furry companion of 17-years, run out of breath. It has been a period of grieving and I never know what today’s serving of this feeling will look like. Below, ten different shapes it has taken in recent days. Most of these are about mourning my mother. But also, my cat. And my hair.

1. Chicken nuggets. She loved them, as much as her grandchildren.

2. Putting on her earrings. The ones I didn’t like.

3. A curling wand. That hair is gone.

4. A patch of carpet that holds her space. The cat.

5. Summer Wine

6. Lunch. There is no one left who cares to ask, “what did you eat today?”

7. The last WhatsApp message.

8. A bird on the windowsill. Once the harbinger of all the drama of the Serengeti, now just a bird on the windowsill.

9. My boy telling me her sarees have “the India smell.”

10. A wooden owl on display at a Christmas market. She collected those.

Some of my mother's owls

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But, amidst the grief, there is always, always, joy. In every single day. Here are ten of its avatars:

1) A song playing on the radio that I know all the lyrics to.

2) A houseplant I didn’t kill

3) Coffee. Because, addict.

4) The family bed, laden with children and pets, books stacked on the side table.

5) A stormy weather friend: someone who doesn’t keep in touch but shows up with cake when you really need it.

6) The right word.

7) An untroubled child.

8) Forest bathing.

9) Autumn leaves

10) The right shade of lipstick.

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I leave you, dear reader, with this this verse from Jane Hirshfield’s poem, The Weighing:

So few grains of happiness
measured against all the dark
and still the scales balance.

Cannot wait to hear what this community has to share. What is the shape of your grief? And joy?

Until soon,

A hug,

Pallavi

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