A grief that inspires action

So far, this year has felt like a kick in the teeth. I don't know how else to say it. In my personal life, I found out a week ago that an old friend was in the hospital and didn't have much time left. He was someone I grew up in church with, and when I left the church at 18, he was one of the only people that treated me with kindness. I spent some time with him last year, and even through our vast differences when it came to religious beliefs, we enjoyed each other's company. He was a really good person. I made it to the hospital and got to see him about an hour before he passed away. I haven't seen death like that, the moment just before and the moment just after, not ever. Not right in front of my face. I won't go so far as to say I believe in the Christian god, but it is true that even in the last hour my friend was still alive, I saw him, he was still there. After he had died, when I went back into the room to say goodbye, the body there was so undeniably not him anymore. Whatever he was had left. It was overwhelming, and in my grief I keep running into these thoughts and questions: I knew him and even unconscious and one foot out the door, he was still himself. When he died, he wasn't there. He was gone. So where did he go? And what was that thing that he was made of? What was he? What was that?
During this same week, we celebrated both my partner and my son's birthdays. This week has been so hard. It's so hard to form cohesive thoughts around it and wrap it all up into something nice and readable. I think that encapsulates the entire experience: I am mourning my friend, people are being murdered by a fascist government in the streets, and I am celebrating my loved ones. I'll be 8 years sober this Fall, and something alcoholism stole from me was the ability to experience both the good and the bad. Sobriety has given me, as Mary Oliver wrote, "a box full of darkness". It's a painful gift. I feel the love, the joy, and oh my god I feel the pain. But I can't live here, in this pain. I can hold it, I can acknowledge it every day (and I should), but as a human being on this planet, I can't stay in it. What I should, and what I am doing, is using this grief and anger as proof that I have experienced (and will keep experiencing) deep love. My grief can become a tool, instructions on how to better love and care for my family and my community. It is my job to do so. It's all of our jobs. 
Also, as I said earlier, our government is murdering people in the streets in Minneapolis. I would suggest that you don't give in to the compulsion to stay inside of your phone during this. Yes, be informed, get angry, but then please act. In whatever that means for you, act. Do something, literally anything, but get off your phone. You can start on your own street. You can print out flyers at the library and put them around town. You can talk to your neighbors, you can check on them and make sure they're warm and fed. You can put your money where your mouth is, which is one of the most impactful things we can be doing right now.

Here are some places where your money will do some good:
Joyce Uptown Food Shelf: Food pantry in Minneapolis  that's accepting emergency donations. They also have a link on their home page for other places to donate.
Community Aid Network MN: Exactly what it says. Mutual aid network getting food to families in Minneapolis.
Cempazuchitl Collective: Rent assistance for immigrant and American Indian families in East Saint Paul.
Immigrant Rapid Response Fund: Providing urgent basic needs, legal services, and training on mobilizing & organizing in Minneapolis.

​Stay angry, but don't despair. We are angry because we love each other deeply. We are going to win.

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