Our society hasn’t a lot of ways to process the relationships that matter most in our lives, especially if they end badly. We are left to do it in private, and for many that means shoving them down deep into the crevices in our hearts, hoping that they will stay put there. Unfortunately, life continues to unfold over the years, with our children turning into adults who make their own life choices, marry and often have their own children. Much like making an angel food cake (Wow, does that date me!) often when we are folding the new ingredients into the mix, we bring up something from the bottom as we stir.

Even though we may love the ingredients that are going into the cake, the parts we have hidden in our hearts may start to surface. Typically they come as triggers, not welcome additions, and we might find ourselves wondering “where did that come from?” It may be sudden bursts of anger or tears, sometimes overwhelming even a precious family moment. I found that the birth of my first grandchild had as many tearful, unexpected feelings accompanying that first year as it did joyful ones, in part because I had never grieved the unhappy parts of her father’s first year, times that included an affair and separation/divorce from us. The new additions accompanying my grandchild were welcome feelings, but the ones they replaced were difficult to hide. I found I would wake up in tears when I stayed overnight, partly because of the love I had witnessed as they held and put that tiny baby to bed. The love, safety and nurturing of two parents that I was observing was gut wrenching, on a level that I had never allowed myself to feel when I was in the midst of it. What we had missed out on all came flooding back, partly so my tears could wash away the old sadness and loss so it could be replaced with the wonderful, solid and healthy feelings that were now available to me.

Many of the additions to my heart have had oddly similar reactions. While all of them were objectively positive, they always caused me to look back at the deep hurts that had preceded them. In many ways, the more I tried to avoid doing that, sometimes with the help of anti depressant medication, the more I only postponed the inevitable.

I often think in the old days, when people wore black arm bands for a season after losing a loved one, it made it a bit easier for them to continue to process a deep loss. It signaled to others that at least there had been a recent loss, and it surrounded them with some space, grace and kindness. Often we will now go right back to work, back to life exactly where we left off, slapping a happy face emoji on the grief or anger we can’t even feel, let alone calculate how ignoring it will affect us later in life. No one else knows unless perhaps they follow us on Facebook and we don’t make any allowance for it. We may even have a celebration of life for the lost one, even for those who took their own lives, as if we can put a nice lid on our feelings as well as those of their siblings and all those affected by their death by only remembering and celebrating the ‘good’ memories. We may bring food and sympathy to a widow, but we expect a newly divorced woman or man to quickly pick up the pieces and soldier on into a new chapter in their lives with as little negative baggage as possible. Not really possible, except where someone is very good at burying the evidence in the crevices of their hearts. But look out down the road for IED’s! Maybe we should reconsider those armbands?