God is a woman and to me, she’s Lana Del Rey
image via Pinterest
I have never been a particularly religious person, but I do think there is something to be said for having faith.
Faith in what? I don’t know exactly, I think it’s in the eye of the beholder. Personally, I’m comfortable with not having a super clear vision of what’s looking out for all of us. The elusive nature of it all actually comforts me in a weird way... I guess I’m spiritual?
But if I had to envision my faith, I think she’d look like the ultimate enigmatic queen of our generation, Lana Del Rey (this thought also just makes me laugh). If I gave my faith a voice, LDR would repeatedly tell me (sing to me) that everything would be okay, preferably to the tune of Video Games.
I’ve come more into this blind faith as I’ve gotten older. One could even argue that my faith is a coping mechanism, namely for grief.
Like faith, grief is another ambiguous concept, though I can’t personify it because it shapeshifts. All I know with certainty is it’s a big bitch, and everyone gets to know it intimately at some point in their lives… except when you think you know it well enough, it switches up on you, and then leaves you questioning everything. It’s shifty and sneaky and doesn’t make sense, but it’s always there, loyally chaotic. Okay, actually writing this out, I think it might look like an evil Animorph (please tell me you remember the books/TV series from the ‘90s). Grief, to me, really does look and feel like a nameless, godless creature.
I don’t remember if any Animorphs were evil but doesn’t this one look like it could be?
image via Google Books
I’d like to think that LDR and I navigate grief together. I met Grief for the first time when one of my closest friends, Emily, transitioned to LDR’s mystical side of the universe. Since Emily’s transition, Grief has stayed with me (at times even stealing the show from LDR) and changed up its looks a lot over the years, but lucky for me, so has LDR.
I can say for sure that when I’ve believed LDR has my back, I regain my strength. When grief metaphorically knocks me over and burns everything down, my pop priestess helps me rise from the ashes, assigns meaning to the little things, and delivers me messages from my angels. She conjures the butterflies that land on me and my loved ones, which I have learned to interpret as signs from Emily.
Just the other day while walking my puppy, a butterfly landed on her and stayed there for a moment. A past life meets a new life, I thought as I teared up. Emily knows I have a puppy! Feeling like Emily could see where I am now brought me warmth and peace.
I’m incredibly grateful for these warm experiences with Emily’s spirit, especially since I’ve felt deep sadness many times since she’s crossed over, even years later. When I got a new phone last year, I was devastated that the majority of my voice memos from Emily had been completely erased on my old phone. I’d replayed those memos over and over the last few years, and poof! All of a sudden, they were gone. I mourned losing those recordings and was reminded of how unfair it felt that I couldn’t just ask Emily to send me a new voice note. I was reminded of how much I missed her in a new, gut-wrenching way. My grief morphed again.
As I’ve spent more time with Grief, I’ve realized I’ll never be able to understand it, or make sense of the reason why Emily transitioned when she did. Point blank, it sucks. But the more I walk with LDR, the more butterflies I see.
Through therapy and with time, I’ve realized that LDR can be as constant of a presence as grief has been to me, but I have to be willing to see her. When I do, she shows me the sparkle from the other side. Mind you, it takes real, objectively deluded, effort to envision a global superstar doting on you–so needless to say, my vision of her is often blurred. But, as I’ve mentioned earlier, I’ve learned to be comfortable with that.
X 😊 X 😊
~Melli
