I had a good conversation with an old friend yesterday, about loss and the future. For once, we weren't really talking about children at all. We were talking about being middle aged, facing increasing loss, and how to approach the next half of our lives. I've dealt with loss and grief, steadily, since I was about 10. For her, its all new.

Grief is not controllable and always a shock. After many losses I noticed a predictable pattern grief took in my body. Years later I began to practice acceptance about the whole situation which lessens the physical pain...somewhat. Perhaps it simply intellectualizes the pain. Because grief symptoms used to hit me in the middle of my chest. Now I get an instantaneous headache, small, behind my left eyebrow, very unlike sinus or migraine pain. Perhaps sort of like learning not to scratch chiggers, my body has learned to mostly ignore the initial blow-through explosion of grief? Except for this immediate pointed locus in my mind which warns: here come the weasels. I cry less and feel somewhat less seared, I can let go faster, yet I've become angrier.

It took me till recently to understand that grief, itself, does not require extended mourning. Neither does society. And you do not love less nor become a bad person if you let go of grief as fast as possible. When you can, when you are ready. (sigh...) It is okay to let go of grief. For some people, grief can become ritualized or can turn into hoarding, both of which conflate spirit with material things.

Who wants to roll into the second half of their life grasping, burdened, desperate for meaning, looking back more than forward, lonely, sad, or angry. Not me. Especially not the angry part. I want to be one of those happy expansive old people that seem large, somehow, and full of light. I want to spend the second half of my life engaged and willing, not in denial nor clutching.

Love does not reside in things. You can not shelter yourself from pain without becoming numb. And its good to have a plan for your failings. One of my failings is anger. If I'm not careful, anger could transform from a mere failing to a companion. Much in the same way denial can turn into a house full of objects that mainly serve to keep you from feeling fear or sadness. Anger and denial both serve their good purpose but make bad traveling companions.

Note to self: let go. Its alright. Practice love instead. Or art. Or both.