Good Grief

I always knew I wanted to write about grief, I imagine one blog wont even begin to cover it in it’s entirety, so all I can do is begin. I’m sure some might wonder why it wasn’t one of my first blogs, especially because of what I do. I think I had to come up for air myself with grief. December and January are hard for me, they are my biggest waves and even though I expect them, I still drown. So how fitting that February 1st is Monday, blog day, and here I am soaking wet and sputtering from grief ready to tell you how and why I embrace it.

I grew up with death, my fathers business my whole life was making headstones. It was just a part of life, people passed and when they did my family helped create the beautiful stone that marked their resting place. I had, what I thought, was a good understanding of life and loss. So of course, I was heading full force into a reckoning. Don’t get me wrong, I experienced loss: grandparents, friends, cousins. I knew it, felt it, and respected it. Then I lost my mother. Time stopped and my world made absolutely no sense. Grief had come for me and it held nothing back, it was merciless and relentless. Grief is a tsunami, I never stood a chance. Somewhere along the waves I quit trying to swim and just learned to float. I think we all have our own understandings, coping mechanisms, and relationship with grief. Not only is that ok, its important. I would love to take the limits, and expectations away from grief and if I can leave anything in its place it would be the knowledge that it is ok to not be ok.

I had read the books, understood the steps, and thought I was well prepared. I was in fact, not prepared. The stages of grief, I’m sure you’ve heard them: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Well sure I guess those all exist but not in that order and not on any kind of timeline. Not for me. I have felt them all at once, one at a time, and watched a couple tango right over my soul. I still swing from denial to acceptance like Jane swings after Tarzan. Anger? Anger is my homegirl, she visits me often. I’ve bargained like a housewife on a budget, and depression is like a worn in robe- soft and cozy, even with all the holes. I had no idea a heart could break so much and somehow still continue beating. I lost her on December 30th and I don’t think I will ever forget that New Years eve. The panic I felt as the clock reached midnight was consuming. How could we start a new year that she wasn’t going to be in? How could time be moving forward in such a cruel and obvious way and why am I powerless to stop it? That same panic hits me right about midnight every new years, less so but still there. I don’t fight it, nor do I hide it, it just is and I’m ok with that. I think I could go on forever about how grief cripples me, but that’s depressing and not the point I want to make today.

Grief gets a pretty bad rep, it is viewed as something we must overcome. Steps we must take to move past it, to grow out of. For me, grief is love. Pure love. Some love is stronger than others, different than others, but love nonetheless. Some love is short lived, a footnote in our story. Some loves are big, it fills chapters of our books and changes the whole story. Then there is the great loves, the ones that are our story, the very essence of who we are. These loves are fewer but oh so powerful. This is the same for our grief. This is why, for me, there is no expectations on grief. It just is, and will always be. I know my mom is still with me, I know she is at peace. I KNOW this like I know I am breathing oxygen, it doesn’t make me miss her less or my grief any less powerful. It lifts a weight, gives me hope in what feels like a hopeless time, but it isn’t supposed to change my grief. My grief is a direct testimony of my relationship with her. The deeper the love, the deeper the grief. I feel her absence every single day. I still want to call her just to chat, every time I need parenting advice, and especially when something great happens. I miss hearing her responses, I miss her smell, I miss her hugs. I know she is still with me, I just miss the physical side of her. I don’t know if I will ever get past that being lost. I have also decided that I don’t want to. She deserves to be missed. Her absence is impossible not to feel and as painful as that is, it is also extremely comforting. Its a validation that what we had was real. That her time here wasn’t wasted, she loved deeply and was deeply loved in return. I don’t want to overcome grief or step my way through it. I embrace it, respect it, and am so so grateful for it.

There were a few aspects of grief I did have to adjust, the parts that kept me drowning. Once I allowed myself to look at grief differently, embraced all it meant instead of fighting against it, it started to change for me. For quite sometime I was a zombie, I just got through the days. I didn’t want to talk, laugh, sometimes even move. So many times that is frowned upon and judged. If this is you currently, I personally want to tell you it is ok. You deserve to take the time to process and heal. There is no time frame and no right way. We all deserve to learn to float, but learning to float is a must. I promise you, our loved ones don’t want us to suffer. They truly are at peace and with us, they get to live on in everything we do. With that in mind, no one wants to spend eternity watching daytime dramas and eating copious amounts of cake. Maybe that was just me, but still, you understand. Every time we laugh, love, and succeed after they’ve left us, we are honoring them, and everything they worked for and loved in us. My mom worked hard to give me all she did in the 34 years I had her here. I honor her, by honoring that.

It is far to easy to get lost in the end and forget that they lived. Our loved ones are far more than their death, no matter how it comes. Memories, inside jokes, even their failures, these are all worth remembering and honoring. I will always be ok with feeling their absence, but I can not, and will not, let their death override their life. Death, like life, isn’t about the ending. It’s the journey. Whatever the journey that brought you this grief, that awarded you such love, every single minute of it was worth it. Mission accomplished, and lessons learned. That is the other part of grief I had to change. I had to let go of the what ifs and just accept that her passing will never override her life. Grief for me is a tsunami. Sometimes the waves overtake me and sometimes I float. I am thankful for both. Every time I start to drown, every time I suddenly cant breathe, I am thankful. Thankful to have loved even if it meant the loss. Thankful because I know the waves don’t last forever. There is a beautiful warm life in between the waves. Its ok to not be ok, there is no magic solution for grief. Just know that their absence is your waves, but their love will always be your sun. Its ok to get lost in a wave, just never lose sight of your sun.