152. Guardians in Grief – Caroline Catlin
Grief guardians, it turns out, are as abundant as grief itself. Equally fierce, powerful, and present. Our job is to look for them.
My friends and I have had a rough couple of years. We are the unlucky ones, winners of the most undesirable lotteries. We’ve been diagnosed with rare diseases and incurable cancers, have experienced more than our fair share of devastating accidents and injuries. We’ve built our lives back up from rubble, only to have them torn down again. Over and over, we’ve had to start over. And over and over, we have shown up for each other.
Before Covid, we walked into each other’s arms and apartments and hospital rooms, traveled by plane and car between states and countries, held out our hands and washed the faces of our hurting loved ones. When Covid hit, we adapted. We hosted virtual funerals and celebrations. We read poetry to each other over the phone. We sent texts, letters, gifts, food. We did our best to be there, without being there.
Through all of this, a few have gone far beyond the expected bounds of friendship. These people have offered not only to witness, but to go with. To allow our stories to intermingle, to become guardians for each other—guardians in grief. We have not protected each other from pain or loss (an impossible and futile goal). Rather we have committed to the wholeness of ourselves: to the people we were before our losses, the people we are during the worst, and the people we will be in whatever form our “after” takes.
As we have learned to trust these bright spots, we have begun to find guardians in the most unexpected places, like a hot shower and a change of clothes. In a spot of sunlight lighting up a hospital stairwell. In art, in pets, in the changing of seasons. In the barista who offers a free cup of coffee, the stranger who lets us take the elevator first, the nurse who brings a glass of water without being asked.
Grief guardians, it turns out, are as abundant as grief itself. Equally fierce, powerful, and present. Our job is to look for them. To pay gentle attention to everything that continues to walk with us. To see the ways we are held by the world around us. To pause in moments of grace and say a quiet thank you to the persistent good that has stayed with us, woven between all the rest.
– Caroline Catlin
