Grief and the Stars

I am not an expert on grief, or at least what I think of as the “normal” grief. I have lost loved ones to death, but all things considered, not many. I know it is not so much a matter of luck, but a matter of time. The last few years I practiced estate planning, which involves planning for people’s deaths. So I talked about, and thought about, death a lot. And I did have clients—and at least one who was dear to me—die. But none of that makes me an expert on grief.

Over the last few years, I’ve become interested in astrology. Yeah, I know. Stars, zodiac signs, sun rising, in the 5th house of what now? If you had told me ten years ago I would be buying books on the subject and looking to my birth chart for answers, I would have rolled my eyes at you. But the last few years I have been seeking. Seeking answers, seeking guidance. This allusive “higher power” that I am meant to rely on sometimes seems too allusive. At least with astrology, someone can point and say, “See here? This is where Jupiter is and this is what it means.” Even though the planets are far away, they are there. This Universe is so big and so strange and so magical. So why the fuck not look to the stars for answers? They’ve been around longer than us.

So this brings me to my astrology reading for this week. I am a big fan of Chani Nicholas’s app (yep, there is an app for that). Her book, You Were Born For This, sort of rocked my world and exploded my mind. (Maybe I’ll write about that later.) This week on May 15th, there is a lunar eclipse. Chani explains that “eclipses are always a little extra scouring in their impact because they are about releasing. And this one in particular is about grieving. It’s about grappling with what it is we’re letting go of - acknowledging whatever part of the grief cycle we may be in. And because the Sun in conjunct in the fixed star Algol during this eclipse, that grief might be extra loud and poignant.”

I don’t understand the conjunct or the stars, but when I heard this reading, I knew it didn’t apply to me. I have nothing to grieve right now. No one has died. Cool beans.

And yet…

Yes, I have obviously “lost” some things recently. And any loss involves grief. I have lost a way of life that I had been working towards for years. I lost a home. I lost a routine. That grief has come up and, once I recognized what it was, it was expected and understood.

But grief is cunning. Surprising. Patient. Wise.

I was with my ex-husband for 14 years. From when I was 18 until I was 32. I left him seven years ago this summer. There is a lot of that relationship that I have grieved, processed, and let go of. But—as I have learned these last few weeks—there is some of it that I have not. The strange combination of me stopping and having time to think, and the discussion of reproductive rights with the leaked Supreme Court opinion overturning Roe v. Wade is what has brought this grief up to my consciousness.

I have never had an abortion. I have never been pregnant. For ten years of my relationship with my ex-husband, I was unable to have sex because of endometriosis. Turns out it’s hard to get pregnant if you can’t have sex. Endometriosis is when the lining of the uterus gets outside of the uterus. It presents in all different ways for people. For me, it was horribly painful periods and painful sexual intercourse. My journey with endometriosis is a long story that maybe I will share someday, but the reason that journey has come back to my mind these last few weeks is because I found myself wondering… what if the endometriosis had not happened, what if we had been able to have sex like any normal couple in their twenties, what if I had gotten pregnant, what if we had a child, what if… what if… what if…

Grief is a funny thing. I am at peace with my decision to leave my husband and my decision to let go of having biological children. And as hard as this transition has been, I am at peace where my life is right now.

But peace doesn’t mean that there isn’t grieving still to be done. Grieving the loss of the family I had envisioned. The children’s names I had picked out, we had picked out. Grieving the future that could have been. Grieving the love that could have been.

In the seven years since my marriage ended, I have been so busy. Busy with rebuilding my life, building new relationships, building a career, building a sober life. And now? I’m not busy. I’m still. I am right here. And the grief found me. Took my hand and gently said, “Honey. It’s time. You’re ready.”

And so here I sit. Feeling all the feelings. Knowing that this is not the first time. Knowing that this likely will not be the last. So much love brings so much grief.

I keep reminding myself that when loss hurts this much, it doesn’t mean I did something wrong. It doesn’t mean that I failed or that I’m a failure. All it means is that I showed up. I loved hard. I stayed open. And things happened. That’s all it means.

So yes, no one has died. And yet, the stars were right. And here I grieve.