Grief is...
Grief is a whirling mind. I feel like I'm riding an unrelenting merry-go-round. Around and around in a vicious circle of despair. This is grief. This is my life.
They say there are stages of grief. They tell me I will process through those stages, experiencing each separately. Grief is described as a linear path, overcoming each stage, eventually crossing a finish line.
The reality is; there is no end. There is no straight, clean path. Grief is circular, messy and complex. There is no processing one stage and moving onto the next. Grief is not a check list. There are no tasks to complete or boxes to check. Grief is ever-changing, never ending.
Grief is a revolving door. I am forever in and out of joy and hope, to pain and despair. My mind searches for solace. I long for respite from the thrashing pain my heart feels. I yearn for peace from my swirling mind.
Grief is a vice. Clamping ever tighter on my soul. I pray for my heart to burst, then maybe I would find relief. Instead, the vice becomes tighter and tighter with unyielding force.
Grief is realization. The realization that death stole my son. Death stole his future. My new mind keeps count of all the things my son won't do. I track the birthdays he will miss, the body changes we will never see, the friends he will never make, the wife he will never have, the children I don’t get to love, the career he will never enjoy, the trips he will never experience.
Grief compares. I watch other boys his age, comparing them to my son. I wonder if they would have been friends and dream of the mischief they would get into. I watch other mothers raise their boys and wish I still had the responsibility of raising my son.
Grief remembers. I see Marines and long for the brave man my son would have become. I remember his fierce love and willingness to protect his people. I remember his soft skin and thick hair. I remember his sense of humor and sensitive soul. Grief reminds me that he is gone.
Grief is spinning in and out of control. The life of grief is anything but pretty. Grief is the constant battle between learning to numb the bone-crushing pain that has become your new normal. Grief is being in a continual state of survival. Living with grief is your brain persistently sending warning signals. Your mind forever feels like danger is near. Of course, this is the response to your heart shattering over and over every day. The brain of grief works differently. I frantically search for ways to keep my mind busy. My body is exhausted, yet my grief pushes me toward mind-numbing activities in pure avoidance of the excruciating pain.
Grief is all the love I was meant to give to my son. With out him here, my love overflows and morphs into anguish. All the love I was meant to give my son throughout his life, breaks through the dam of my heart and rushes forward disguised as tears.
The life of grief is not a race with an end. It is a journey. A horrific, tragic new life. Grief is the friend you never want. It sits on your back and takes over. It is ever-present, persistent and can wreck havoc. It controls your thoughts and dictates your actions. Grief is consuming.
Grief gives us an ultimatum when it enters our lives. We have the choice to fight the waves, struggle against the undertow of torment and allow what death stole from us to take over and consume the good we have left.
Or, we can choose to lean into the ebb and flow of grief. We can choose to allow the dark thoughts wash us and watch as they recede back into the ocean of pain. We can get up and brush off the gritty sands of lies and stand on the shoreline of truth. We can allow hopeful moments to cleanse our souls.
We can allow the love we have yet to give pour through our hearts allowing the vice grip to loosen. We can hold onto the ever spinning ride and allow our hair to whip behind us as we travel through our memories. We can bask in the rays of joy when it enters our souls. We can stand firm on the knowledge of the beauty that lays before us.
I didn't choose this life of grief, but I can choose how it affects me. Grief is now my life partner. It will be with me until the day I meet my son and Jesus. I am choosing to walk hand in hand with grief. Instead of grief sitting on my back weighing me down, I allow it to walk beside me. I allow it to urge me through this journey. Grief is my friend, although one I would never choose. Grief is all the love I have for my son, therefore, it isn’t ugly. Grief is beautiful. Grief is necessary.