I couldn’t come up with a whole lot to write for this post. Sometimes grief takes away every lucid thought you have.
So I grabbed what I wrote a while ago and brought it here:
It’s one thing to know in your head that grief isn’t linear. To talk about it, to hold space for someone in the throes of it, to teach people how they can best cope with it.
It’s quite another to feel it in your lungs. To suddenly and horribly need someone the way you need air.
Then to still leave the house, spend time in the company of others, work, play, laugh just a little too hard.
Still my hair is two days unwashed because I’m so tired of the inevitable showercry that is the only thing I can reliably predict about missing him. I relish those tears, and I wish they would go away. And I hate that I wish for that.
Grief is an essential part of our human experience. We honor our losses by grieving them. No one gets to tell you how to grieve. There’s no schedule, no flowchart, no promise of when or how it will end. But we WILL get through.
Today I will shower. The tears will come, and they will go. I will talk with my husband, talk about how we are feeling today, talk about what project he’s on, talk about what we need for ourselves, and each other.
I’ll give extra special scratches and snuggles to the little black dog left with the big duty of being boss of two weirdo humans who are trying to keep their shit together.
And I’ll get on with the messymissing of my maurading boy.
Now:
It’s been a rough month. Lots of ups and downs. I’ve been taking my own damn advice, and just doing my best. We get by with a little help from our friends. Our family. Wine.
So I’m letting you know I’m still here. Soon I’ll have more to share about getting through the shittiness. I was and am still grieving a family member that wasn’t human…but was the funniest, saltiest, sweetest person I ever met. He’s been gone for a month, and still he wakes me sometimes with his getyerassupbarks.
He’s like that.
