DEAR GRIEF

Dear Grief,

You barreled into my life fifteen years ago today. I didn’t want you in my life. I wanted no part of what you had to offer. I fought you with everything I had, until I was too weak to fight anymore.

When you knocked at my door, I didn’t answer. I ignored you, but you came in anyway. I think I had probably met you before, but didn’t realize it. When I was younger, there were instances in which I’m sure you dropped by, but I didn’t know you personally, so I didn’t pay attention. This time it was clear you weren’t leaving. Matter of fact, you brought a bag and it wasn’t an overnight bag. It was a huge trunk which must have had everything you needed because you had no intentions of ever leaving.

My initial reaction was to ignore you. I had so much to do and my heart was so heavy. There wasn’t room for you in my head or in my heart, but there you were. You were there when the sun came up as I fought sleep and my tear stained pillow showed a restless night. You were there as I poured my cereal, sitting quietly in the corner as if to say, “I’m here when you’re ready”. As I dressed for work, you followed me from room to room and I felt you were intrusive.

At work, you watched me from afar as I juggled bringing new life into the world while grieving my precious daughter. You were in the car heading home with me while I cried so hard that I had to pull over because eyes don’t have windshield wipers. As I lay my head on the pillow, exhausted from being up all night and fighting my emotions as I did my job, you even followed me to the bathroom when it became too much to bear and I would sob uncontrollably in the safety of that small space.

You showed up everyday, every meal, every moment I was experiencing and I realized you weren’t going anywhere. You unlike so many in my everyday life weren’t going to leave me no matter how hard it got. I had a huge support system, but eventually they all returned to their own lives and picked up where they left off. That, of course is the normal course of things. I, on the other hand, sat in the middle of the world where a bomb had exploded and destruction was all around me. The ashes were deep and I could feel the heat as everything around me continued to burn. It seemed there was nothing left.

That’s when you came and sat with me. You took my hand, stained from the ash and held it tight. You, without saying a word, told me you’d always be with me. It was as if I’d found a friend among the rubble. I felt relieved I had someone to lean on that wouldn’t be affected by my tears. I didn’t have to pretend with you. It was softer with you in my corner.

I began to look forward to seeing you in the morning and sharing my day with you. You helped me protect myself when the world became overwhelming. You helped me protect others from me as my emotions heightened. You accompanied me everywhere, always keeping a low profile, never leaving my side. At work, you sat close by, at home you began to make yourself at home, even cuddling up with my favorite blanket.

As time went on, you were my invisible roomie and I tried to return to life in a different way. As I tried to discover the “new me”, you stood close for those times it was just too much and it was often too much. I fought hard to regain my footing, but often stumbled and you were there to catch me. I realized no one really understood, just as I didn’t understand what they were going through. What I did realize was this, everyone has something and we often never know what that something is. As alone as I felt, I realized many are fighting a battle we aren’t aware of. You taught me that everyone’s story is different and this was mine.

In time, with a lot of personal work, I found peace again. I found helping others helped me and that’s where I put my energies. Eventually from the ashes I saw hints of new growth. Little seedlings of hope emerged and the landscape began to change. Instead of what was no longer there, I began to visualize what was left. It was a new and different life, one I hadn’t ask for nor imagined, but it was mine and I had to try and make the best of it.

In the years that followed, you stayed with me, but often you were able to sleep in or bow out of events. Often I would forget you were there, concentrating on the present and looking less in the rear view mirror. As I regained my footing, you had to resurface again and again as additional losses occurred. This time, I buckled you in the seatbelt next to me and welcomed the company. We rode that coaster together and you even got me to let go a couple times and raise my arms high, taking a chance on being fearless.

I am here because of you, my forever friend. Grief, you taught me survival skills, you taught me to be fearless and you taught me that life is short and we need to make it the best it can be, regardless of the challenges we face. I thank you for being there through the ups and downs of my crazy, wonderful, challenging, difficult life. I am happy to have you and occasionally when you find me with a tear stained pillow, or mascara streaks on my cheeks, it is just a reminder that love never dies and grief is forever.

With love and gratitude,

Carolyn

Lindsey’s mom