They say grief comes in waves.
It’s been over six years since I lost the boys, and this past year has been my most difficult. I am guessing that is obvious because I have not been present on my blog much at all, and even now, I’m struggling to find the words. Check out Wikipedia under the phrase “Struggling to find the words” and you’ll see my photo. It seems to be all I do these days. S…T...R…U…G…G...L...E...
A friend and I were visiting the bench last week. We sat there chatting for almost two hours and it made me realize how much I miss my people, aka, my circle.
As I mentioned earlier, it has been a rough year. It’s acerbic how much stress compounds grief when other areas of your life aren’t going so hot. I was telling Henry about how I used to attack grief during the early years. I would schedule one day a week to sit in it and allow myself to feel it all. It was so “healthy” (cue the eyeroll). That is, until one day, when my body felt what my mind already knew - that the destruction from this grief bomb would last forever.
That’s when it happened.
I realized that I would be trudging through this grief every day, for the rest of my days.
I simply could not bear to sink in it anymore, so I slowly pulled back, and rushed forward, and spun in circles... and dove deeper, until my mind was constantly rotating through the moments in my life. One day, two weeks, three months… six years. Here I hide in the dark caverns of grief, and I can’t remember most of the days that brought me to this place. I just know that I’m so. fucking. tired.
And, I miss my boys beyond reason.
The other intuitive knowing within my body is that the beautiful circle of friends that I have collected along this journey has brought me through the last six years. For some reason (Let's go ahead and name her: Pride. Independent. Stubborn.), instead of reaching out when the current is pulling me under, I continue to dive deeper into its depths just fighting to grow gills.
Fun Fact: I am never going to breathe underwater.
The time has finally come to understand that truth.
To bury my feet in the sand instead of the undertow.
To let the salt air expand my lungs.
Maybe, even time for the hardest truth of all.
To give my boys permission to find their own adventures at sea.
Without me.
Much Love,
The Graceseeker