I’m no stranger to grief, it’s as much a part of me as the color of my eyes or my nose. I know the steps, the pain, the swirling haze that only grief can do to you. No matter how prepared I am, it paralyzes me. I have no words, no advice, I stare blindly at the grieving and say nothing. I don’t offer my own process of dealing. I just stand there, saying nothing. I sometimes wonder why? Why can I not say anything, maybe it’s because all I have are cliché’s to utter and those are the LAST damn thing anyone wants to hear. Time is the only thing that helps and it is the GRAND DADDY of the stupid cliché’s, but it’s also valid. Time is the ONLY thing that helps you. Not meds, not food, not drugs, not booze, not a “new love”, not an OLD love. Time. Is it.
The days click by putting space between you and the hurt, and the TIME will be another source of HURT because the time itself makes you cognizant of the loss. So Time is a double edged sword. Irrational I know, but that is grief. A completely irrational pain that cannot be made better, no one can ever EVER bring back the person you miss and yet you fall asleep wishing, and you wake up wishing, and songs on the radio trigger memories, photos of your love one feel like they’ll tear you limb from limb. Holidays are knives in your stomach, spilling your guts on the floor. But the sun rises, and it sets, and the seasons change and somewhere in the middle of Thanksgiving and New Years you laughed, and that one day you laughed you didn’t feel bad about it…so another laugh happens, and you catch a glimpse of yourself, maybe it’s in the mirror or your reflection in a spoon, or in the eyes of your children and you realize that TIME was what has made things better. The very balance of the day, the weeks, the months, the seasons have helped you regain your balance. The ebb and flow of the ocean, the moon’s phases whatever it is, it gets you back on your feet. You’ll never be whole again, but you will be better.
My grief brought me to the edge, the closest I have ever been to ending my own life, the pain was so strong, so completely consuming that the only way out that I saw and could think of with my grief soaked brain was to take my leave. That memory alone keeps me in fear for my husband and children’s safety, because I know my way to that bathroom sink, counting out the Tylenol, making the situation available to not be found, to know at what exact milligram dosage kills you, and what kills your liver. I know that if something happened today to my family, I probably would be right back at that counter. Maybe that is what keeps me from going to the grieving and sharing my words, my process, because my process is too hard to revisit. Tomorrow I’ll attend the funeral of my mothers dearest friends. In a situation that is too complicated to explain I’ll see people that were in my life during the worst time of my life, and those people will be grieving, they don’t even have to say anything, their faces trigger hurt so deep inside me I’m hopeful I can get out of my car and face them. I wish I could say thank you for helping me, even when I pushed you away and made you hate me. I wish I could say somthing ANYTHING that would help, but I know, that they know the only thing that helps is TIME. So they’ll begin that march, that dreadful first year without your loved one march. The birthdays, the holidays, the wedding anniversaries. They’ll face it, and like me they’ll regain their footing. It just takes time.
I hate death, fuck grief, fuck the grim reaper. I hate that pain, the sounds of the hurt. I hate this all.