Creative Rebellion Essays: Dealing with Grief
Flowing as we feel grief — photo by John S. Couch
It’s been a week since a helicopter went down in Calabasas, taking the lives of 9 passengers, along with Kobe Bryant and his daughter, Gianna. The world felt this one, as Kobe was one of those mythical figures, like Prince or John Lennon, whose contributions and excellence in their respective fields meant so much to so many. And when shooting stars die young, we feel the additional loss of their unfulfilled and unexpressed potential; there was so much they were going to do to make this world a more beautiful and wondrous place.
The world felt shock. And then grief.
I know about grief. First-hand. And I’ve experienced the loss of someone whose incredible talents were just starting to be seen and enjoyed by the world. Seven years ago my wife and I lost our son, Austin Peralta. (He was my stepson but I made no differentiation; he was as much my child as my daughter is). The loss was, and still is, colossal. It was like a bomb detonating and we are still reeling from it. Our family suffered from, and still suffers, from PTSD. The fabric of our lives was torn asunder; the supposedly solid foundation of reality became quicksand; emotions became binary: nova-white explosions of anger and disbelief followed by numbness and deep, deep, darkness. Nothing made sense anymore. Life was meaningless. What does anything matter if it’s all going to go away? It’s true that everyone dies but there’s an innate sense of timing and rhythm to the process –– we mourn the loss of the elderly but if they lived meaningful lives, even though it doesn’t diminish the sting, we are comforted by a life well-lived. When the young are taken from us, a sense of injustice permeates the soul.
And time does nothing to diminish its effects. Austin is on our thoughts daily, hourly. And we wouldn’t want it any other way.
Grief. True grief, never fades away. It never lessens and it will flare up unexpectedly. And that is just the way it is. You get familiar with its presence. You can’t force it away.
When Austin passed, my wife faced it stoically. She didn’t take anti-depressants or imbibe in drugs or alcohol. She grieved terribly but all the while stared the monstrous reality of the situation straight in the eye. She went into the cave, into the bowels of its darkness. And she came out, wounded and scarred, but illuminated with a new light, a wisdom that can only come from enduring the unendurable.
I share this personal story of grief as the world is grieving. Our political system is in chaos. Our climate is in dire straits. Currently, we have the coronavirus crisis. And with the passing of Kobe, we have lost a galvanizing figure who was admired across party lines and religious affiliations. Yet another reason to grieve.
And from my experience, it is crucial to grieve. We should. We need to express sorrow and dismay, allow its timeline. And then we need to switch gears and do something about it. Take action.
For me, I had to express my sorrow through a painting series I made for my wife. I needed to illuminate the cave of my sorrow by accepting the injustice of what is and creating something that would pay tribute to and address the catastrophic reality.
As human beings, we are blessed with the capacity to use our creative spirit and brilliance to address the seemingly insurmountable challenges of our world. Now is the time to do so. We honor those who strove for greatness by taking on their mantles and expressing our own, unique selves. Fully.
Yes, the world is grieving and that sorrow never truly goes away. And that’s okay. It really is. Accept the grief and welcome it. Give it a place to sit. Let it just be.
And then get to creating. And changing the world.
“The most important thing is to try and inspire people so that they can be great in whatever they want to do.”
Kobe Bryant
During these times (and all times), remember to be kind to each other. Everyone is carrying hidden weight.
John
Austin at Tokyo Jazz Fest in 2006, age 16
“Goodbye Porkpie Hat,” in 2012, Austin’s last performance
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