Jumping Off The Cliff Into Grief

This is what I know for sure. I am 36 years-old and on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Three weeks ago, I contemplated filling my gas tank up, grabbing a few bottles of Diet Sunkist and driving the opposite direction of home with no particular game plan. I was not sure where I would go, but for the first time in my regimented and planned-out life, I was willing to leave it all behind, in order to find myself.I have been lost for a while now, and I need to find the old me as soon as possible. *** Nine months ago, my mother, who was the most important person in my life, died of a rare uterine cancer. 111 days later, I had to take my father off of life support from a catastrophic aortic aneurysm rupture. A few weeks after that, I found out I was expecting my first child. Through all of my grief with mom and dad’s death, for a brief, fleeting moment, I was elated. I saw hope. However, hope, I have found out in my life is short-lived. 2 1/2 months into my pregnancy, we found out there was no heart beat and our little baby, or what they called the “embryo,” had died. Two days before my first Mother’s Day without mom, I had surgery and my little silent baby was lifted to heaven and placed in the loving hands of its grandparents. Grief does not even begin to describe my state of being. I have so many emotions spinning inside me; I feel as if I will fall to the floor and never have the strength to get up again. *** I stand at the gas pump, wearing black patent heels and a black dress with tiny white polka dots. I let the soothing, waves of wind wash over me. The sky is a soft white with tiny tendrils of pink clouds scattering across the magnificent day like bales of hay waiting to be sent to the grain mill. I smile for a moment feeling the energy of my mom coming down from the heavens patting my cheek with love. I just finished officiating another wedding ceremony on a day that was so glorious and bright, I wondered how it was possible. How can it be so beautiful all around me, but inside I am a raging black sky, angry and minutes from dropping down into a tornado and taking the world into my vortex of grief. I know I am supposed to be sad. I know I supposed to hurt, but this is ridiculous. Just as the tornado of grief was about to drop down and suck me into its core, I remembered what my Reiki healer Kara told me, in order to fully grieve the loss of someone dear to use, we must "Grieve Well." Grief should be full and open like a tornado. It should take you, suck you in, roll you around and take your breath away. Grief is not sitting at the base of the cliff and not jumping in because of fear. You have to jump and build your wings on the way down. On the way down is when you learn the lessons of grief. So, there I was again with a Diet Sunkist in my hand, a full tank of gas, and a heavy heart. I knew what I had to do. I had recently been accepted in the Cambridge Summer Yoga and Writer’s retreat in Picardy, France for two weeks and had declined once I found out I was pregnant and due to my teaching schedule for the fall. After I lost the baby and my class was cancelled, I took that as sign. I emailed the director and accepted the invitation she has still kept open for me. I called my travel agent, booked a flight to Paris, bought a big, white floppy hat and a French phrase book with CD. I decided I need to grieve, and what better place to do that than France. I speak very little French; my Yoga leaves a lot to be desired (thank you 20 years of dance for some pointers), and my writing submission on death got me accepted. I took that as a sign too. One week from today, I will board my transcontinental flight, try to not run away from grief, but to meet it head on, with a glass of French wine, a notebook, this blog and my vast library of memories.