In my past, I knew that I had experienced grief. I had buried loved ones, wept for others that I didn’t know but who had touched my heart. I had read books – singular experiences such as near death stories; cultural beliefs, such as <em>The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying</em>, the wonderful work by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, MD that articulated the common human experience of losing people we love.
As time passed, I started to understand that my grief touched other parts of my life, but, since it was not named as grief, it felt like: hopeless, resistant, disappointed, and resentful.
What I found is that I needed to grieve my lost hopes, dreams, and, especially, fantasies – my fantasies about how life would turn out, what I thought things meant, what I believed about human nature, what I believed about God. Most of my ‘problems’ stopped being things to be solved, but grief to be experienced.