Recently I found myself playing a rousing game of “Chutes and Ladders” with my grandson and his mom (my daughter)—a game I soon realized I was destined to lose. For the unfamiliar, this is a children’s game that involves a spinner which dictates how many spaces a player may move in a turn (1-6), characters that represent the players, and a board with spaces numbered from one to one hundred. You start at space one (which should probably go without saying) and, if you’re lucky, end at space 100. I say if you’re lucky because there are “chutes” scattered across the board and, if you land on a chute space, you automatically have to ride it down to a spot you passed long before. But there are also “ladders” and if you hit a space with a ladder, you get to climb up, thereby getting much closer to the finish line and winning the game.
I kept hitting the chutes. All the chutes. Every. Single. Chute.
This game, which should have lasted maybe 15 minutes, seemed to go on forever. Not that I minded, but there are only so many times you can almost get to the end and then hit space 87 which takes you all the way back to space 24, without beginning to believe you have entered the “Twilight Zone” or an episode of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents”. I also realize those references may be lost on some of you. Let it suffice to say I wasn’t sure I’d be going home that night.
While reflecting on my humiliating defeat at the hands of a six-year-old, it occurred to me there are other instances when a lot of us probably feel like we’re playing that same never-ending game, especially when Loss and Grief are involved. We think we’re doing okay. We think maybe we can see light at the end of our own dark tunnel. And then we hit a chute that feels like it takes us right back to the beginning. It may be a holiday or an anniversary, a birthday or a special place. Maybe a song or a smell. It doesn’t matter what triggers the chute; it just matters that it does, and suddenly you feel like you’re starting all over on your grief journey.
You know what’s so nice about “Chutes and Ladders”? If I get tired or run out of time, I can just get up and walk away. Of course, I wouldn’t while playing with my grandson, but it’s always an option if I want it to be. You know what’s not so nice about Life? It doesn’t work that way. I can’t easily leave the game and move on to something more pleasant if I grow tired or the demands upon me become too much. That’s why we should learn to recognize Life’s ladders when they magically appear and not be afraid to climb them when we can. Although our grief never really ends, those ladders can help us as we work toward acceptance of what Life has become . . . and remember, those pesky chutes will move farther and farther apart as time goes by.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
