Envision a Future after Grief

What do you want your future to be? I realize that this question, to someone in the deep, dark midst of grief, is a terrifying—even agonizing—one. Remember that Jerry Maguire-esque mission statement I told you about? I wrote it a month before my daughter Libby died, after losing my shit one day trying to be a full-time working wife and mother.

At the time, I was utterly exhausted trying to be ALL THINGS to ALL. THE. PEOPLE while never letting anyone down. I felt like I was failing miserably at everything, and I had no idea that my entire world was about to fall apart.

Reading that article today is almost surreal. Who was that person? Why did I let myself become her? And now that I was NOT her, who in the hell was I? I was still a mother, but motherhood wasn’t the same. I went from being the mother of an elementary school-aged child and competitive dancer who needed me and wanted me around constantly, to having just two teenage boys at home. Those same boys subsequently graduated (one from college, the other from high school) and moved out of the house, transforming my life even more.

New Identity, New Future

I was no longer a wife. My second marriage, which I had been desperately trying to save for over a year and a half, imploded almost the moment Libby died. My daughter gave me the gift of being so broken that I didn’t care about how it would look to walk away from the things that were not good for me, and I will forever be grateful to her for reminding me I had freedom of choice.

The harried woman who wrote that article, whose dream most of her life had been to be a wife and mother, now lived alone in a big, empty house, her only company the memories of the life she used to have. Where she used to be screaming inside for some alone time, down time, ME time, now she had so much of it that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

Decision Time

And so began a journey that so many mourners have to travel: the journey to find myself. To figure out who in the hell I was, what I liked, what I wanted to be. To decide if I was going to be swallowed up in the void of grief or keep trudging forward.

One of the excellent grief books I read after Libby died, How Can I Survive?, by Pat Sheveland, contains a guided meditation that basically asks you to visualize your future self. I’m not great at meditation, but I gave this one a shot and just tried to sit quietly and picture an older version of me. Where was I? What was I doing? How did I feel?

I saw myself sitting on a soft sofa in a cozy log cabin. There was snow falling outside, a fire blazing in a hearth, and I had a laptop on my lap and was writing. I smelled the wood smoke of the fire mixed with something emanating from a Crock-Pot in the kitchen. I felt relaxed. Comfortable. Content.

Changing Vision of Future

In my old life, I would’ve pictured a big family dinner with everyone gathered around a large table, happily talking over each other—laughing, joking, and eating the hearty Lancaster County meat-and-potatoes style food I’d made. I couldn’t picture that anymore. I was not sure I’d feel relaxed, comfortable, or content in that situation with Libby absent from the family table. She had left too big of a hole to fill.

But my new vision still excited me. It was different, sure—but I thought I could find some peace if I could figure out a way to get there.
I’d like you to try this type of meditation for yourself. You might have to do it a few times for details of the vision to feel complete. You can find guided meditations to meet your future self on YouTube.com, or you could just sit quietly in an empty room and do your best to picture yourself five, ten, or fifteen years from now.

It’s up to you how far ahead you’d like to look, to envision your future after grief. Hopefully, with practice, time, and a little luck, you’ll have an image that you’ll
gravitate toward. Many times, it will be your first gut instinct that seems most appealing.

Don’t Let Guilt Stop You

I’m going to tell you something that I want you to hear very clearly. If I were with you, I would have you lean in close so that I could whisper this in your face while staring intently into your eyes. It would be a little weird, but I would do it to ensure you understood this point. IT IS OK IF YOUR VISION MAKES YOU FEEL GUILTY. In fact, it is very likely that it will.

So many times, we bury our true desires and dreams in the name of what society wants us to be, what others expect of us, and choices we made long ago. It is highly likely that you might see something that you are actually afraid to reach out and grab once your dreams start rising to the surface of your conscious awareness. Unwillingness to reach for the unknown immediately is OK.

If you see yourself sitting on a beach sipping Mai-Tais and your family is nowhere in sight, that’s OK. If you’re crossing the finish line at the Boston Marathon and you’ve never run a mile, also OK! Or if you’re in a foreign country feeling like a world traveler and you’ve never left your hometown—amazing. Fuck anything and everything else.

This is YOUR vision. The beauty is that you don’t even have to get there completely. You just need something to work toward, and a knowledge that there is a future that excites you.

Read more by Brooke Carlock at Grieving Mommy: One Mama’s Journey Through Child Loss/Grieving Mommy: a grieving mom’s journey through child loss

Check out Brooke’s other writing on Open to Hope: ‘You’re SO Strong’: A Misunderstanding of Grief – Open to Hope