Bromides

bro·mide - noun

/ˈbrōmīd/

1. a chemistry compound

2. a trite and unoriginal idea or remark, typically intended to soothe or placate.

"feel-good bromides create the illusion of problem solving"

I recently sent a note of condolence to a friend that included, with the standard offering of sympathies, my observation that deep grief pushes me to live more boldly because my deceased loved one cannot.

I received a cold missive in return telling me my ‘bromide’ (I had to look it up) was not appreciated. That led to a personal reflection about that statement and the deep truth those words do convey about my take on death.  It certainly won’t be everyone’s perspective but it is far from a trite declaration for me.  It is how I live my life.

After my daughter Chloe left her body at the age of 28, I vowed to live fully as a way of honouring her.  All the things she won’t be able to do that I still can do!  That is no small thing. The freedom to brew my morning coffee.  To walk in the early morning as the sun is rising and the city hasn’t fully awoken.  To dance.  We used to dance together so I channel my grief into dancing and include her when the music comes on.  I try to include her in many things I do that she would enjoy.

And I still grieve.  But I’m here and I owe it to her to live fully as a way of honouring her.  Nothing trite about that to me. It’s fierce. It’s not easy.  I feel her pushing me to be brave, to move my projects forward and to give the best of myself to be of service to others. It means getting conscious of my own erroneous belief that I should no longer live fully – that a mother’s grief requires a mother’s guilt and that living fully somehow means we grieve less.   Not true!

We all travel the grief journey in our own way.  It is informed by our past losses, our beliefs, our customs and habit patterns.  It is complex.  And yet, reaching 60 this year is transforming me into someone who wants to live simply, to be unencumbered by worry of the judgements of others and to live fully because I can.  And in doing so I honor Chloe’s memory.