Spanish-speaking people are better than anybody else at handling emotions. In terms of emotional IQ, Spanish speakers surpass people of my culture in the same degree as my intelligence surpasses that of a door-knob. This is probably the main reason why I became so attracted to the Hispanic culture.
This is what Spanish-speakers taught me about dealing with grief: when something damages you, it needs to be put into words and narrated as many times as possible. If you need to tell the story a hundred, a thousand, a million times to make it lose its poisonous power over you, then that’s what you should do.
The most devastating moment for me happened during the last ultrasound when the doctor turned to me and said, “I’m sorry.” This was the moment when I felt that my life was broken in two. Everything was great before that moment and everything became horrible after it.
At first, I couldn’t even think about this instance without wailing and screaming. I knew that if I didn’t do something about it, it would tear me to shreds from the inside. If you take a piece of broken glass with jagged edges and bury it in the sand at the edge of the sea, the waves will beat it and toss it around until the edges become smooth and lose the power to cut. The same thing happens with grief. If you describe the horrible experience many times, it doesn’t go away, but it becomes possible to carry it inside yourself without it demolishing you.
So I described the devastating moment to different people. And I wrote about it on the blog. And I wrote about it on paper. And then I talked to more people. And wrote some more. And I’m writing about it now.
Of course, nothing will turn this experience into a good one. It will always be a devastating moment in my life. But it will be one that I processed and absorbed as part of my life journey. I don’t need to deny it, fear it, or pretend it didn’t happen. It happened to me and now I can live with it.
Clarissa's Blog 
Bless you, Clarissa. These posts mean such a great deal to me.
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This is extremely, extremely true. Things that cannot be spoken of poison the psyche.
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I like how you characterize grief as something that you carry around inside yourself. That’s how it feels to me, too. That blog post sounded more positive than most of the previous ones. I hope you can ride the top of the wave for a little while.
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In the 90s, I worked on a double-blind placebo-controlled medication study for post traumatic stress disorder (some traumas were combat-related, most were not). I saw each participant every week, and each week, each had to re-state the entire story of their individual traumatic event. Everyone got better, whether they had placebo or real drug. The key was that they had to tell and re-tell their stories, every week for 12 weeks. Some had never told their stories to anyone.
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This is such a beautiful post. You have made me both laugh (with your story about the towing company) and cry this week. I’m so glad that you are finding solace with your gift of writing. 🙂
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Note how many years I ranted against Reeducation. I didn’t say anything new about it most of the time, but each thing seemed new each time I said it. Had to be said until it did not seem new any more.
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