Killing It In My Sixties

A labyrinth represents a journey in life, often a spiritual or personal one, characterized by twists, turns, and a single, winding path leading to a center and back out. In death, it is a metaphor for the often complex and winding journey people experience while navigating loss and mourning.  It is a metaphor – but also a literal place to visit and experience.

I first experienced a labyrinth when I was immersed in my post graduate studies at Dominican University.  I believe my professor introduced the concept as well as the literal experience, in an effort to plunge us deeper into self-exploration as we labored through our thesis-writing.  At the time, we visited Grace Cathedral in San Francisco to participate in an actual labyrinth walk.  In 2015 Dominican University installed their own labyrinth to offer to the community.  A labyrinth differs from a maze, in that there is only one way in and one way out whereas a maze offers multiple ways out as well as dead-ends.

I remember the labyrinth walk at Grace Cathedral; being very aware of my focus, intentions, surroundings, and the utter quiet of my mind in those moments.  It was a reminder to look ahead, stay focused on what is to come, be mindful of others in your path, and to trust in the outcome.  

As I grieve the death of my father, I am learning to embrace the virtual structure of the labyrinth as a framework for my healing journey.  It emphasizes the twists, turns, and moments where I feel I am backtracking – offering a path for contemplation, reflection and ultimately healing.  On days when it feels tough to move forward, it helps to remember that grieving is not linear – it is indeed circuitous.  There is no quick escape, no way to dodge every brutal moment, and no way to leap frog to a happy ending.  As much as I want to wake up and have it been a year later, without having to navigate the relentless presence of grief – I know that every day is integral in the growth that comes from grieving.

I am beginning to understand that honoring each memory of my dad; every song that reminds me of him, every holiday that supplies flashbacks to days spent with him, a photo of him with his beautiful smile, his words in my ear supplying his wisdom, and the spaces where I sense him although he is not physically present.  When I have those memories – I allow them in – along with whatever feelings accompany them; be it sadness, laughter, tears, or anger.  They are inescapable – and when I try – to escape them – they manifest again and again until I give them my full attention and honor the love they represent.  I have grown comfortable with my tears falling – it is such a feeling of release and an acknowledgement of the important role my dad had in my life.  Others may not be comfortable with them – but that is their own journey.

As I look at grief as a path rather than a wall, I can accept the finality of my father’s earthly presence, while recognizing that I am still here and must learn to experience the remainder of my journey in a new way – without him.  I am frequently reminded that the extent of my grief is in direct correlation to the depth of the love felt in our father-daughter relationship.  I realize that father’s life journey was complex and that he brought meaning to his life through his many experiences, (both planned and unexpected).  Knowing this allows me to open up to what experiences may still lie ahead in my life – and helps me to move forward through the grief.  

I believe there are many applications throughout life for the Labyrinth; the whole life journey, a grieving journey, a spiritual journey, or a health challenge – to name a few.  If we look at these times in our life, it is helpful to remember that it doesn’t have to be the end of us – instead – a portal to our next journey.