Grief sucks. It comes in many forms and for many reasons but it never doesn’t suck.
The most accurate description I’ve heard and the one I repeat most often is that grief comes in waves. At first, the waves are so large and so frequent it’s hard to keep your head above water. With time, the seas sort of calm and the waves are maybe a little easier to predict and navigate. Every once in a while though, that fucking tsunami grief wave pummels you unexpectedly…
People always ask if “it gets better”. “Does it ever get easier?” “Will it ever not hurt so much?”
The crappy reality, at least for me, is no. No it doesn’t. It gets different. It gets… More predictable? It gets… I don’t know. But I certainly wouldn’t call it “better”.
Most of the time I’m fine. I can handle it. I’ve paid therapists a pretty penny to get that way (shout out to the mental health professionals of the world, you the real MVP babes!). Every once in a while though, that GD grief ocean throws me a tidal wave and knocks me on my ass. Today was that day.
I also have this super trauma response of burying my feelings until I can’t any more. Today, the dad scab got opened and my family bullshit poured out. Poured out of my eyes, my nose and my chest, took my breath. One little gift tag with the words “Dad, Love you” in his handwriting was all it took.
Grief is it’s own beast. Complicated grief is a mother fucker. Lucky for me, my husband was there to gently hold me up before I could crumble. I have an amazing village of humans, but he’s the leader.
I haven’t written in a while, I guess I was hoping to find this therapeutic. Anyway…
I hope those who are grieving can find your people. Or your person. Someone who can sit with you, and hold you together when you’re crumbling. I promise you won’t crumble forever, the patchwork just needs a repair now and then. ♥️
