Making space for ambiguous loss

{and an update on my vocational journey}

Photo by me, July 2023

The other day, in an effort to clean our house after the long holiday weekend here in the U.S., I was doing the very mundane task of sweeping our small kitchen. There’s a patch of unfinished wood flooring that surrounds our small black refrigerator, and as I poked the broom under the fridge, I pondered how we’ve never gotten around to filling in the stain under our new fridge. Then, all of a sudden, I burst into tears.

My dad, who is 67 years old, has vascular dementia as a result of strokes. In early spring of 2021, he had one while he was driving his work van, and life really hasn’t been the same since. My dad stained our kitchen floor several years ago, before the pandemic. Since we downsized our fridge, several inches of the unfinished floor are now visible around it. Due to the strokes, I can’t ask my dad how to fix the flooring - I’m pretty confident he wouldn’t be able to tell me.

This week, as I cried while sweeping, it hit me: I’ve been living with some kind of ambiguous loss for close to a decade. Part of why I’m here tonight, writing after the kids are asleep, is to say - maybe you are, too.

We’ve collectively been through such a trying time. All the while - silently weaving around both normal days and tragic ones - lingers ambiguous loss. A lot of us became acquainted with this concept during the pandemic (you can read more about it here), and it’s different for everyone. For me personally, it’s consisted of infertility, the pandemic, and life after my dad’s strokes.

As I finished sweeping (and crying), the depth of this particular loss had really sunk in. And along side that realization, was another:

Our society does not do this very well.

Though they’re not perfect, we do have rituals for supporing people who have been through actual losses. We’re getting better at talking about grief, and meeting people where they are. But talking about ambiguous loss — really making space for the right gentle questions, the quiet responses, everything that’s said through silence? There’s a lot of room for improvement.

Photo by me, July 2023

I don’t know what the answer or solution is, to contribute to improving this, but I think writing about it is a step in the right direction. I think slowing down, doing less, listening, and reflecting more will bring us closer to healing, too. Making space for imperfection, for the whole spectrum of emotion - I pray these allowances might be salves for the hearts of those who are weary, whose path stretches out without a visible end.

If you’ve been navigating ambiguous loss, or have anything to share - please do. Tell us in the comments, or reach out to me. We are not alone - we have one another.

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Life Update

On a not-entirely-unrelated note, I am so very excited to share that later this summer, I will once again be a student. I have decided to pursue a certificate in spiritual direction. This will probably not come as a huge surprise to anyone that knows me! I haven’t been aware of this vocation for long, but I learned of it early this year and have found a hybrid apprenticeship program with someone local to the Twin Cities. I really love everything about it - the structure, the content, the teacher - the whole vibe. Right now, I see myself providing one-on-one spiritual direction to clients mainly in-person, but I know that could change as I move through the program and learn more about why I am on this path. I look forward to beginning my studies and seeing how this “new” focus will draw on my past experiences and the very strong call I’m feeling to support people on their spiritual journeys.

Thank you so much for being with me here. I’m so grateful for you and your energy.

Peace,
Nikki