Eve Giovenco

As anyone who has lived through the loss of a loved one can attest, there are many steps and stages to this experience. I have committed to taking a year to move consciously through this. Since my mother’s death, as grief swirls its way in and out of my days, I am learning that in addition to the pain, there are many gifts to be discovered in this process.

Emotions that were raw and tender last month have grown a thin layer of insulation this month. I am starting to take more frequent forays into life, moving from my inner core very carefully outward. For an introvert, this is the way of self-protection. I open the door little by little to increased social interaction, and even subjects unrelated to the topic of mothers are beginning to interest me.

Some days still feel like a game of lost and found, as I bounce in and out of various memories and emotions, triggered by any number of things. The ‘lost’ days can still feel deep and dark; the ‘found’ days feel hopeful and clear. Here are a few samples of the blessings that are in my ‘found’ pile:

The gift of noticing: When I spend time in nature, paying attention to detail, everything becomes a metaphor for life. This week I went snorkeling, and while I didn’t see many fish, the plant life was phenomenal, with feathery fronds waving in the currents. It reminded me that, had I only been looking for fish, I would have been disappointed. If I am too attached to the one thing that’s missing, I feel my loss even deeper—and I may have missed the beauty in front of me as well.

The gift of humility: Deep loss strips me of arrogance and control, replaced by a sense that anything—any small thing—has the power to lift me or to bring me to my knees. I may not anticipate the feelings that a song, a poem, a sunset, a light breeze, or a child may bring up, or even the way a beet looks when I grate it. I am at the mercy of the universe around me, and I humbly accept it.

The gift of awe: Not far from our home in Baja the gray whales give birth to their young and these enormous mammals welcome human visitors for social time with their babies. We spent a recent morning exchanging gestures of friendship with whales that approached our boat. There is no more appropriate use for the word ‘awesome’.

The gift of freedom: I am the one holding the light now—and when I shine it on my relationship with my mother, I can remember her in whatever way I choose, and tell my stories about her and our relationship in new ways. I am free from my judgments about the past, free to move forward to have whatever relationship I want with her from now on.

The gift of flexibility: I am essentially powerless over the when and the how. I cannot know what will trigger my sadness or my loneliness. I cannot know which mornings I will wake up disoriented, lost, or preoccupied; and which mornings I will feel steady, clear, and healthy. Therefore each day I rise to face whatever the day brings.

The gift of humor: In this new reality, whenever I can find the silliness, the irony, the amusement, or the quirkiness of a situation, I can much more easily navigate it. In my mind I hear my mother’s laugh, and her words, “Keep your ground flexible and keep your sense of humor,” and I feel satisfied that I am carrying her legacy forward. I miss you Mom.

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