reflections on a 9 year

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Video text —

Hi, I’m Sukhpreet. I’m a grief & death worker among many things. In this specific realm, I study death, related deities, end of life rituals, necropolitics, and plants. I’m here to remind you that this is a 9 year. Today marks the final month of this 9 year and I encourage you to reflect on how these themes have shown up for you and how you can pour gentleness into yourself and those you know that are navigating deep grief. On a global level, we have seen unfathomable amounts of death, it feels astonishing trying to fit the totality of that into our hearts. I’ve experienced more loss than ever this year. Multiple dear loved ones have passed over to the other side. Each death carried a different signature, a different form of grief that etched into my heart and emotional landscape. Personally, the most recent loss I experienced was a month ago, this one felt so different and I may get into specifics later if & when I feel ready. This grief changed my mind. I love my memory, I have a photographic memory, I’m a writer, I’ve been told that I speak very thoughtfully and poetically. This recent grief obliterated that. Processing it plunged me into such deep isolation. When I came back up, it felt like my brain no longer worked the same and it’s still figuring itself out honestly. I had a lot of difficulty accepting this version of me — that felt full of brain fog, couldn’t speak, was mixing up words, and forgetting things. I do feel like I’m coming back to myself, or more accurately, coming into this new version of myself. I had a lot of difficulty though. In the past, I prided myself on my adaptability, my flexibility, my intellect, this was an entirely new way of submitting to change. Because I didn’t want to be this person — who couldn’t speak, who couldn’t remember, who couldn’t be thoughtful, who couldn’t be a grounding force for others. I didn’t know who I was or how I could show up in all the ways I used to. This perpetuated the isolation because I was so attached to being that version of myself. What we can do when the grief bleeds into these parts of us, is notice. This grief has altered my memory, because it altered time, because it needed all of that space to be fully felt, because those moments that carried the signature of this loved one wanted to be as large as everything else I carry. This grief altered my voice because it wanted me to be in silence, it wanted me to hear my loved one in the stillness, in the unseen, in ways beyond words. This grief altered my relationships because it wanted me to receive, it wanted me to know that my body needed ceremony, loving hands and purification.

Grief can feel like a monster, but it is a teacher and sometimes we can’t entirely see what we have learned until we’re a few rounds into it’s dance.