#sharedexperiences

Last week I lost a member of my family, my mom’s cousin Jim. He grew up with my mom and uncles. While I was privileged to grow up spending time with him at family reunions and extended family vacations, there was a bit of an age gap. We were not close.

I am still sad and it has been hard. If anything I am very close to his mom, my great-aunt, and his sister. So I’ve been doing what I can this week to help them process their own loss.

In doing so I have been able to revisit my own early grief journey with a new perspective. I’m nearly two years removed from the loss of my own brother tragically and it has not been an easy two years. For better or for worse I have been forever changed. I appreciate the metaphor about gluing together a broken vase in this moment. While the vase may retain its shape, it will forever be broken. That’s grief. Eventually you can repair the shape of your life, but it will forever be altered.

I am surprised in hindsight that my grief no longer weighs me down. It’s there, and surfaces in random moments and memories, but it is no longer a daily struggle.

And I am happy to be a guide for someone else in their journey. As I told my cousin Trish, I hate that we are in the club together, but here we are and here I am.

It makes me think that as cliché as the expression is, there is a reason for things that happen in our life that we may not understand. And while I sincerely doubt my brother passed to pave the way for me to counsel my cousin in her own grief, I know I can offer my experience and shine the way for her to move forward.

The collective shared experiences of others have gotten me through not just my loss, but many of life’s trials and tribulations. Even if details vary, enough can be shared to provide a glimmer of hope to the ones that come after you on the journey.

Although we may have shared experiences, we will interpret and take different things from ‘those shared’ experiences that puts us on a different path.

No matter what my childhood experiences were, or how I saw my childhood, my path was to find out about a disability I didn’t know I had, my journey was to write about my disability, to bring that to life so that I would finally know and bring closure.

My parents were supposed to do what they did, so that I would come to have the life I have as an author and writer. Growing up without knowing was difficult, but I had already unconsciously chosen not to be defined by the fact I didn’t know what my issues, or disability were. I had to wait.

If there was going to be a pioneer of someone talking about disability, then why not me? My Story needed to be told. Without telling it, I would never have known about my ‘disability,’ or could never have known about ‘me.’

As a child, I was always cognisant of the fact that I had ‘a bad leg and bad foot’ but never understood what those meant. Those thoughts were there when I went to bed at night and when I woke in the morning. They were haunting, they never left me.

I knew there was a bigger picture, that there were things I didn’t know about myself, there were things I wasn’t being told. With anything we deal with, we have a right to know. That’s basic stuff.

Although my book Cerebral Palsy: ‘A Story’ shows that my story is unique, it also shows that each of us have a story that is valid and unique, but that we must dig deep and reconcile. My thoughts and feelings in the book, which are based on ‘universal understanding’ are open to each of us.

Please sign up to my ‘Newsletter’ through my website, to receive exclusive discounts on my book Cerebral Palsy: ‘A Story’ and to place a pre-order for my forthcoming Book ‘Spirituality, Healing and Me’ due out in 16/9 at a special discounted price.