Grief

As much as Thursday dawned a beautiful summer day, Friday's weather was dark, dreary, and rainy. Fitting weather for the way I was feeling. As the raindrops hit the windshield of my car, I thought about the tears that still dropped intermittently from my eyes.

They say time heals all wounds. I'm not so sure of this. I've grieved before, people and pets. The beginning intense, then little by little, fading until it is tolerable. Eventually your life returns though different. You get used to your new normal whether you want to or not.

This fall, it will be four years since my dad died. He was sick a long time, his death not unexpected. It was hard to see the once vibrant person, unable to walk or even move unassisted. Unable to breathe. His death brought a sense of relief to me because he had suffered so. I felt guilty I didn't grieve more.

I felt the same way after my grandparents died after suffering long illnesses. I've since learned there is a name for this: Anticipatory Grief. It's normal and expected. It makes sense, this letting go. In a way, it is a gift because it has the ability to make death more gentle on loved ones. Hence the sense of relief I felt as I was grieving my dad's death.

My dad and I talked a lot about politics. We thought alike in most areas in that respect. That was one of the hardest things to adjust to in his absence: wanting to call him and discuss this or that, exclaiming our frustrations to one another. We are so programmed as humans to just expect things to stay the same. To not realize the change that is coming down the road. To have shock and disbelief when it does. At almost four years I think of the conversations we could be having right now and it makes me smile.

Another thing that was tough: wanting to talk about him. All the time. Unfortunately, others don't see it that way. Once it passes, it's like the person is just gone.  Occasionally someone might ask generally how I was doing. But I wanted to talk about HIM. That would have given me comfort.
Something I'm trying to remember myself when someone loses a loved one. Encourage that person to share memories of them, and not just right after it happens.

My cousin and his wife (who live in another state), suffered the tragic loss of their 5 year old daughter in a traumatic auto crash this February. I only spent time with Gabrielle once for a couple days, but I grieved her like she was my own. It's been almost six months and I still cry when I think of her. Her picture on the front of our refrigerator, not to be forgotten. She was bright and beautiful. She had the world ahead of her. It ripped my heart out.

I don't know how they could do it, so many hours in the church, greeting a lengthy line of people coming to mourn. My cousin in a wheelchair because of his own injuries and resulting surgeries, his wife at his side. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Their strength. Their pain. As tears continued down my face in a near, never ending stream for the hours I watched them, their eyes were mostly dry. All cried out.

Where I live is a large population of Finns. You will see the blue and white Finnish flag license plates emblazoned on the front of cars. You will see bumper stickers that say SISU. Finland has a meaningful word for what in reality is in all of us, Finnish or not. We all have the power to move ahead thru adversity. Perseverance. It isn't easy, but we do it. Because there is no choice.

Yes, Gomez and Porter and Howard were dogs. They weren't my grandparents or my father. They certainly weren't Gabrielle Grace. That doesn't mean I don't feel acute pain at their absence too. I still need to grieve, and grieve I will. I will endure just as my Finnish neighbors do. I will get thru it.

My life will be different, but this is the essence of life. Alive and ever changing, flowing like a river.