Grief | Michele Woodward

I started writing this blog in October of 2006. Week in, week out, regular as clockwork. Two hundred and forty-four weeks, and I have never accepted a guest post – until today.

I think you’ll like the writer (of course, I absolutely love the writer). Please meet Grace Woodward, a 15 year old high school freshman who has something to say.

Being yourself is one of the hardest things to do.

Especially as a teenager.

Everyone is changing and growing up and there’s an unspoken idea that you suddenly have to mature and deal with a lot of responsibilities. This idea comes from everywhere. My parents expect more of me, school does too, and saying something stupid in front of my friends is a horrifying concept.

But at the same time I’m trying to discover myself and live the way that I want to. Whenever I find myself in a spot where I feel like I’m doing things that don’t reflect the person that I want to be, I remember my friend Will.

I met Will Prince in sixth grade. We had some classes together and I remember him as a smart, kind guy. Will was an avid Red Sox fan, and was usually wearing something that showed his love for the game. In seventh grade we also had classes together and would have conversations about baseball regularly.

One thing that really sticks in my mind is when I walked out of math, after talking to Will, and thinking about how he was exactly who he wanted to be. He seemed happy all the time and had a strong passion for life. Will was only in seventh grade for a few months before he was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma. Although Will and I weren’t the best of friends, I was devastated. He was such a sweet guy and always had a smile on his face. I talked to our mutual friends and helped to organize a fundraiser to raise money for lymphoma research. I even wrote to the Red Sox.

Looking back I wonder why I felt so connected to this boy that I knew for such a short time. And I realized that it was because Will was confident in himself. He did what he did because that’s what made him happy. He lived life the way that he wanted to. I was constantly asking around to see how he was doing. His progress was amazing, and he seemed as though he would pull through. He was let out of the hospital to go see all of his favorite monuments and sights in D.C. Sadly, that was the last weekend of his young life. It made me smile however, to know that Will spent his last hours seeing his favorite places with those that he loved.

As the tears rolled down my face and the words of “Hey Jude” filled the church at his funeral, I remembered what a truly honest, kind, and happy person Will was. And as the second anniversary of his death, April 19th, rolls around this week I’ll remember all the baseball talk we shared and how fun and insightful Will was. I’ll also remember how Will lived every day to the fullest and that in his twelve years he left a lasting impact on all those around him.

Will Prince will never be forgotten.

And thinking of him helps me to realize that my life is mine. And that I should live in a way that makes me happy.

And the secret to happiness? Doing what gets you fired up.

Leaving a mark on those around you. Doing what makes you wake up in the morning with a smile, because you never know what could happen tomorrow.

So live YOUR life.

And try to smile while doing it.

Like Will did.

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Saying Goodbye

It’s hard to say goodbye. As Shakespeare so aptly put it, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.” And in this life there is much to be parted from, often with much grief.

One man becomes suddenly, critically ill and must part with the idea of his youth and vigor.

One young mother loses her own mother, and must part with the idea of herself as someone’s beloved child.

One man parts with his wedding ring after his wife’s death, and lets go of the idea of himself as someone’s husband.

One woman parts with her home and possessions and adjusts to the idea that she won’t live independently for the rest of her life.

I’ve written about crisis and how it can change lives. Crisis forces a redefinition of who we are, and what’s important to us. Altering those fundamental views about ourselves is, no surprise, life changing.

Catalytic crisis requires us to move from the cocoon of “known-self” to “unknown-self”. Embracing the unknown is not something many of us handle particularly well… so, in the alternative, we cling fearfully, ferociously to our known-self.

Known-self may have worked for years. We’re comfortable with all the rules in known-self — and we can anticipate with confidence how we and others will act. Even if we know we’re unhappy in our known-self, at least we know what to expect! Who wants to upset the apple cart? But when clinging to known-self feels like pain, you will change it. Sometimes it seems it takes a crisis to show us just how ill-fitting known-self has become.

The prospect of unknown-self is murky, and for those with control issues, it’s precisely the unknowing that’s so hard. Parting with a definition that really doesn’t work should be, on its face, easy to do. However, parting with the known in favor of the unknown — that seems scary. It’s like emerging from the cocoon we’ve constructed as a worm and learning to live as a butterfly. None of the old rules seem to apply.

So, in those moments, remember: “parting is such sweet sorrow.”

When you say goodbye to something old that no longer fits, you open space for something new. It’s the opportunity for “new-self”. Which could be something nicer, better, happier. Could be something that helps you live more fully. Could be something sweet.

Be open to the opportunity for change that life brings. Welcome it. Because it’s your chance to flap your butterfly wings… and fly.

Where There’s A Will

Saying Goodbye

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