Reemergence: Those Sweet Honeybees don’t Know Me

Some things aren’t on Amazon Prime.

I’ve used this as part of my sayings several times, including as a teacher with, “I’m not Amazon Prime.”

I’ve also written that the time for a person’s mourning over a loved one isn’t available on Amazon Prime. I also believe one of the biggest mistakes others, who wish to help someone experiencing grief can make, is to wish the person’s grief disappear as quick as an Amazon Prime order arrives.

Grief isn’t a rabbit in a hat. It doesn’t appear and disappear. Sorry, not sorry, to those affected by a modern culture, and are “icked” out by even the word grief.

I don’t even believe grief is a cycle. As I read in another bereaved parent’s post on Facebook, shared by a friend, who lost her daughter; grief becomes a person. It has a life cycle, and I’ve written before that a misconception about it is the fact:

Some see it as crying and always depressing. They never realize it is the recognition of the greatest love.

I’ll add to this idea:

If honed, grief becomes a part of your power.

Grief Leads to a Journey

You don’t envision this idea of grief as a journey in the beginning because all you want is the person back, You have no idea of what you’ve yet to face: mourning, learning to life without the person you love in your life, doing the mental and physical work of recovery, and facing judgement.

But, in the end, when you do the work, you transform into a tiger. My mom and husband both recently commented that I appear happier than I’ve been in years. This is true. I’m in the phase of:

Reemergence.

That is powerful and the part of the journey my daughter, Corrie, would celebrate.

I did not begin my journey this way, and I wrote a “cute” poem for Corrie during COVID-19 only a few days before her death when teachers would visit students from a distance at their house. She wanted me to take one of my signature dishes to their houses.

When I occasionally revisit writing from just after Corrie’s sudden death, the raw reality and heartbreak is apparent. I was there by varying degrees for two years. Remember, I witnessed.

The poem, So I Write, sums up what I felt as a bereaved parent. (My husband, John, even created his own verse.)

With time, there exists a pain no one can see. It’s like a memory you long to touch again, but you never will.

Judgement of you is a part of the journey, too. This is real, and it hurts. But, I’m up front and opinionated on the subject where my attitude is almost:

“Come walk where my shoes have tread, and then you can tell me how long something should take or what I should talk about.”

Sadly, grief is often more soaked in judgement than time allowed for healing. Yes, I believe this. I know I was judged for taking pictures of graves whether my daughter’s and how I decorated it, and the children’s graves in the cemetery that were otherwise not cared for.

Corrie’s Kinder Memorial Walk, where I decorate and keep her grave cleaned along with 30 others, was the first step towards my reemergence. I sometimes share photos of how I decorate her grave now, but not the others.

In 2020-2021, my mind was stuck on death, I’ve come to understand many don’t understand the purpose or why. I still do the work for the Kinder Memorial Walk, and I’ve built a good rapport with those who work at the cemetery. The first step of decorating and weed eating led me to skills I never imagined, such as arranging artificial flowers.

Remember, those Sweet Honeybees don’t Know Me

But judgement of those in grief is powerful, and it is poisonous. My husband and I were judged, continually by those who share his blood after we lost Corrie. I wrote about, made peace with and forgave those individuals. John and our son, Hayes, also made peace with it.

I could not reemerge until I:

1. Dealt with the judgement and forgave,

2. Learned to do physical activities to release my anger and depression,

3. Found a way to say to new friends and old, “Hey, I may talk about my daughter, Corrie, if that’s a problem, you or I can leave.”

Recently on this journey, I dealt with judgement from some near me. Words were uttered one year ago, and the information was shared with me. I had to work through the process. I wrote the first part of what would’ve been a three parts series about dealing with judgement during grief.

I’m too ADHD to write a blog series. I also didn’t feel the need to–as someone who lost her child, had a miscarriage months later, and then whose husband battled colon cancer–explain for others, outside the world of grief, why they judge.

To deal with judgement from the past, I did this:

1. Wrote,
2. Spoke with my wonderful therapist,
3. Unfriended 1 on social media,
4. Deleted a number or two from my phone,
5. Accepted and decided any form of contact isn’t worth it because those sweet honeybees don’t know me,
6. Even the word, “bye,” is too good for them.

Our son has commented repeatedly that I have a “great” ability to just cut someone out of my life and not care. It’s because I’m at the point in my life where you know me, and accept I’m going to put my boys first always, or we don’t have the time.

Although I will cut ties, the most powerful thing I did for myself in all cases of judgement, as I uncover them, is I forgave.

I couldn’t reemerge until I forgave those sweet honeybees who don’t know me.

Now

Now I’m reaching out to those people I recognize as friends and positive people. What’s beautiful about these positive individuals is that they get to witness my reemergence. Many knew me at the time of Corrie’s death, and knew my reemergence was on USPS overseas shipping.

I’m walking in the sun again. This doesn’t mean the sadness or depression is gone. I do the work. I do Yoga, walk, garden, and decorate and care for graves. I forgive, so my anger doesn’t fester. I accept people will scroll past or select the option not to see a picture of Corrie’s decorated grave.

Cool.

Remember, those sweet honeybees don’t know me.

A sparkling sassiness has overtaken the sarcasm, which was always a part of my personality. It’s an attitude of:

“Honey, if you don’t like it, there’s the door. The beautiful thing about the door is that you can fit through it and I can shut it.”

I Listened to a “Frozen” Song

When I took my son to the pool, they played Disney music. One of the songs from Frozen came on, but it wasn’t “Let it Go,” nor “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” Hayes searched my face, and started saying, “It’s okay, Mom. Do you need to leave?”

I said, “No, put on your sunscreen.”

I was okay. I listened to a Frozen song, and I was okay. Hayes said, “I have to go. I have to get under the water.” I was more focused on Hayes rubbing in his sunscreen, and he wanted to jump in the deep end to stay submerged, so he didn’t have to listen to it.

But, he was also okay.

We’ve come thousands of miles in this journey, but wow, look at where my boys and I are now.

By R.A. Bridges