Allowing Grief

 Some years ago I covered the topic of grief on my Bliss blog. At that time several friends had recently lost a parent and we noticed how quickly society pushes for one to "get back to normal." On the blog, I suggested that ALLOWING Grief was a good step in getting us to a place where love and joy (aka Bliss) could be enjoyed again. I did this painting for the blog that week.

Now with my new experience with this topic, I offer my current thoughts:

I'm a little over a month into this nightmare, and a few things have become clear. First, I don't know who came up with the saying "Time heals all wounds," because they clearly never lost a child or anyone they truly loved. I know that in time I will carry my grief differently. I will learn to mask it so others aren’t confronted by it every time they see me, but it will never truly leave. I will not "heal" from this.

I do believe, because I know myself to be a generally happy and optimistic person, that I’ll find joy again. Maybe even without that instant stab of regret that I can’t share it with my girl. Maybe.

Every moment I am reminded of you. A Target run is filled with things I was and wasn’t going to buy for you (you have your own money for that!) The house looks empty waiting for your endless pile of shoes, lunch boxes and backpacks. Your favorite macha tea taunts me in the cupboard that also holds our coffee. 

And now, I find myself in this unfathomable club—a club I never wanted to join, one that has far too many members. How is it that we don’t talk more about this profound, almost common experience? I feel pangs of jealousy for those who had more than 17 years with their child, and I’m gutted for those who had less.

In the hierarchy of loss, I find myself thinking that Jess’s death was, in some ways, one of the "best." BEST- I admonish myself for even thinking that word could apply, but the truth is, it stands. So many never even got to say their last I love you.

Our girl knew she was loved, and we knew she loved us just as fiercely. She died quickly and without suffering. She was spared the agony of a long illness or a devastating injury. Her short life was bright, happy, and full of love. While we will always grieve the loss of what could have been, we take solace in knowing that the life she had was good—better than many who walk this earth.

For now, I’m taking it one moment at a time. Some days are harder than others, and that’s okay. I’m learning that grief doesn’t mean you stop living; it means you carry the love you have for someone in a new way. And while it’s currently very heavy, I feel incredibly lucky to carry hers.