A friend reminded me tonight that grief comes in waves.
I felt until tonight I had good ground. I am moving forward trying to be positive about my future, and my children’s futures. A lot has happened in the past few months that have been hidden blessings. I have family, and friends that are so supportive, and a good career which allows me to put a roof over our heads and meals on the table. I have a lot to be thankful for.
Then, like a huge anvil dropped on me out of no where, the tears flowed, and I feel as though I’ve fallen down in my healing. It doesn’t feel like waves. It feels like a sudden drop. But what I forget is waves, drops or anvils, no matter how it feels, it’s going to happen and that I need to allow it to happen. No matter how awful the pain feels.
It’s currently 212 am. I can’t sleep because I can’t stop crying. I miss my husband. I miss my children’s father. I miss my best friend. I miss the man who wrapped his arms around me before bed, and play wrestled with me in the kitchen. I miss calling him Peter, and I miss hearing him say my name. I miss his smell, and the kisses he gave me on the forehead. And watching him and our son engage in conversations about music, and artists, and all the things I know nothing about. I miss seeing him snuggling on the couch with our daughter watching reruns of Disney movies. I just miss him.
I’ve read everything I can about grief, so I don’t know why I’m so surprised at the intensity of the pain returning. I’ve read, and been told that even years later after such a significant loss, the grief can come back just as strong as the day the death happened. You can be walking with your head high and feeling above it, and then wammo!!! It can bring you back to your knees.
You can not control it. You can not run from it. You can not ignore it. If you do, this is when addiction and unhealthy coping strategies kick in and grief can be prolonged. I wanted to run from it tonight. I ate half a bag of chocolate chips trying to fill the hole I felt in my stomach. I called a friend to distract myself, but when I finished both the grief was still there. All I can do is acknowledge it, sit with it and move through it. I have to realize as much as it hurts, the grief won’t kill me. But it just sucks. I want him back. I want him home. I miss him.
I have to trust tomorrow will be better. I’ll just sit here until I can fall asleep, cry and continue to trust tomorrow I will get up and be ok. I will trust in myself that I can move through the pain tonight, and wake up tomorrow with intention for my day. I have too trust…
I have to accept grief comes in waves. It will knock me down. It will throw me around. It will come when I least expect and at the most inconvenient times. It will make me eat a Costco sized bag of chocolate chips, and keep me up in tears. But it’s ok. It’s part of the process and as long as I sit with it instead of fighting it, the pain will ease, and I will survive this.
If you’re grieving, and you find one day your great, and the next your a heart broken wreck, know this is ok. You are not failing, you are not moving backwards, you are moving through the grief. You are ok. Maybe you’ll find yourself reading this post, and hopefully you find you are not alone at 2 am sobbing missing your person wishing to go back in time. I’m here with you. And in time, we will both be better. Grief comes in waves.