The labyrinth

I walked the path of a labyrinth tonight.

By definition a labyrinth is “a complicated irregular network of passages or paths in which it is difficult to find one’s way; a maze” or so says the dictionary on my Mac.

Yep, that would be my grieving process.  Definitely complicated, and certainly difficult to find my way.

Sometimes it’s forward, sometimes turning, sometimes doubling back, no clear path, no sense of direction, and no way of telling how far along the path I am at any point in time. 

Disorienting.

The controlling, analytical side of me wants a clear line, a finish line if you will, so I know how long I have to hold it in and when I can sigh “it’s over”.

But I’m learning, perhaps the hard way, that grieving is more like walking the labyrinth. 

It is twisting and turning, it’s putting one foot in front of the other, making it to the center and then working your way back out.

The only difference I see between walking the labyrinth and my grieving is that when you exit the labyrinth, you are in the same physical location as you started, but in grieving, you exit an emotionally changed person with nothing ever the same as it was.

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