4 Where Grief Lives

Grief, although often associated with death, lives on forever. It lives on in us, you, me, the ones left behind. But where exactly does grief live in the body? The head? Maybe. The heart? Surely.

My grief sits on the left side of the mid-back, a little ways below the shoulder blade. I came to know this while lying face down on a massage table. I’d had a Groupon for a “holistic massage,” claiming to offer a more well-rounded healing and relaxation experience. And so, as the masseuse worked, she asked me about my life—my family, my job—pointing out on my body where my stresses took their toll. The left shoulder carries family stress, she told me, while the right shoulder carries work stress. And grief lives in your back.

“This is your grief for your dad.” Poke. “Right here.” Poke, poke.

I’d noticed the pain before, but not necessarily the knot. It sat way below the surface, tucked in and hidden. Only when she gently prodded the area, rolling unevenly over it, did I notice the depth of its roots. It was rigid and hard, and her hands worked meticulously, pressing and kneading the ball of tension as it slipped this-way-and-that under her pressure. It felt as if it was running away.

Maybe it’s my left side because I’m grieving for something that’s gone, that has left. Maybe it’s my back because all I want is for him to come back.

I always found it interesting that the word for ‘left’ in Latin is ‘sinister,’ but I guess that makes sense. If left is sinister and grief is hell, then it must be sitting in the right spot.

I left feeling open from that massage, physically and mentally. I was quite intrigued by some of the things the masseuse said, mostly because I hadn’t expected a deep conversation. I noticed a release in both my muscles and my mind as her words sunk into my flesh.

I doubt this tension will ever disappear completely, but that’s okay. Now, every time I feel a tightness a little below my left shoulder blade, every time I lean just slightly to the right, causing an extension and a subsequent stream of pops and cracks in my left side, every time I poke at that knot, I understanding why and how it can be so stubborn, and I think of him.

And even though he’s gone, and even though it’s grief, it’s nice to be reminded of him, even if it hurts.