LOVE IS WHAT REMAINS

in memory of kitty

You can donate to her memorial scholarship fund here.

BY CIDNIE CARROLL

I know grief. The past decade has been a personal master class in grief for me. I have lost several very close friends to suicide, murder, and illness. I lost my father, my hero, in 2016. I believe he died of a broken heart. My youngest daughter, his best friend and the light of our entire family, died in an accident at a marina just 1 day after her 5th birthday the year before. I know grief. I know it all too well.

Having lived with grief for some time now, I've come to know grief the way one knows a constant companion. I've learned grief's nuances and subtleties. I've also learned to recognize it when I see it in others. As I look around in 2020, I see a whole lot of people, experiencing a whole lot of grief. Grief comes to us when we suffer a loss of intense love. I think it's safe to say that all of us have lost something in 2020. Whether it’s a small loss such as the loss of opportunities, a bigger loss of having to give up a life we love, or an enormous loss such as losing a loved one, it is all still grief. Is the ocean not the ocean if its depth is measured in inches or fathoms? No matter the depth, it is still the ocean. The same is true of grief.

My father, my hero.

I know when I was in the early days of grieving, I kept thinking back to a distant memory of Elisabeth Kubler Ross' 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. I knew enough to know that these stages would not be linear. I knew at times they would coincide, but surely if I could just get to that next stage, eventually I would come through grief and move on. I wanted so desperately to not feel this way, surely this would end if I could JUST get to acceptance then I would no longer be grieving. I understand now that is not how grief works.

If you are experiencing grief, you will always experience it. Grief will never leave you. What happens is, we become more graceful at carrying it. I think of grief as a huge pile of stones dropped upon us. At first, we are crushed by the enormity of the weight. Day by day, we try to lift these stones a little bit. Each day, we become a bit stronger. Soon, we can lift several stones at once. Eventually, if we want to, we learn to carry these stones and move forward. Not on or away, but forward. On some days, we won't be strong enough and we will drop some, but with courage and tenacity, we can try again tomorrow.

I have never heard a more true statement than, "grief is the price of love.” We do not mourn what we have not loved, deeply and intensely. We mourn the absence of the focus of our love and there is no greater sorrow than having all this love with no place to go. I will leave you with this in hopes that it brings some light to you—love never dies. Three small words but they are so profound. I continue to love my daughter and my father each and every day. Some days, the love wells up and falls as tears. Some days, I smile to remember how lucky I was to have them in my life at all.

To all of you experiencing grief, my heart goes out to you. I hope that with each passing day, you become a little bit stronger and your stones are a little bit lighter. I wish for you a friend who will hold your hand and sit beside you when your stones are too heavy to carry. I wish you moments where you can feel love surrounding you, for that is what remains. Love. Love is what remains.

FROM WOMEN WHO SAIL NEWSLETTER | ISSUE 5. | DECEMBER 2020.

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cidnie carroll

Cidnie has filled many roles in her life. Touring musician, writer, feminist radio show host, poker player, event manager, chef and wine steward but her favorite roles are mom, traveler and sailor. She lives in Kemah, Texas with her husband Mark and cat Patsy Stone where they are prepping their boat for more sailing adventures, this time beyond the Gulf of Mexico and the Bahamas.