Mornings are bleary.
Nights hurt like hell.
The in-between is lack luster.
Something is most definitely missing.
Being forced into the grieving world, one I’ve never been in like this before, is like being pushed into a pool during a Vermont winter’s night.
It stings. It shocks. It numbs.
Even though I know how to dog paddle, swim, and even breast-stroke, I can’t quite get to other side. Through the flaying arms of grief, through trying to float on my back, through the tears of fear, I need a life-saver.
There are these moments– sometimes, they’re only 30 seconds… sometimes, they’re 30 minutes… but not much more– these moments quickly go by where I’m brushing my teeth, I’m working out, grocery shopping, working on edits, and in the midst of the moment, I forget I’m grieving. Life has happened.
When I smile, or laugh, is when I pop out of it, and realize I’m feeling not sad. I question the happiness.
There are moments I cave, begin to cry again, and fall back in the pool.
Then, sometimes, there’s a nudge… a twist of the shoulder.
Amy, go with it. I want you to laugh. I want you to smile.
And, I do… Example:
Just the other day, I responded to a text about what Chris and I are doing for Fourth of July. Normally, it’d seem like a boring, neutral text, right? Well, not so much with Maeghan. Before I know it, we’re sending voice texts back and forth of nothing but laughter. I laughed until I cried and none of the tears were from sadness.
Laughs are the tiny cracks in grief. They allow for breath, reprieve from the fog, a quick lesson in life, which is, life has to continue.
Mom has been so close by. She’s been just beyond the veil of life… so close, I feel like I can touch her. I know I’ve felt her hug me. I know I’ve felt the brush of her fingers on my arm. I know she’s been there to pull me out of a hard cry when I’m gasping for air.
From just beyond… on the other side, a slight whisp of air touches my ear. No, not literally, but almost… almost.
It’s so clear, I hear…
Breathe, Amy. Breathe. I’m here. Just breathe.
When I’m floundering in the pool of grief, Mom throws me a life saver.
I choose to believe she has a lifetime supply of those touches and whispers. I know I’ll need them for as long as I live.
Yes, for now, in this early phase of grief, I’ll need a lot.
As time goes, I’ll need fewer.
Then, BAM, it’ll all creep back, and I’ll end up in the pool again.
She’ll be there.
The funny thing about the pool and lifesaver analogy is… Mom wasn’t a fan of water or swimming. She hardly ever got in the deep end of the pool.
Thankfully, she was great at life, and being a mom. She can be my lifeguard from the other side any day. Whether she quietly brushes by, or takes hold, and shakes me, I’ll welcome her.
I’ll ride freely through the ups and downs. I’ll feel the sadness. Cry. Scream. Laugh. Cry again. But, no matter what, I won’t stop riding.
Until next time…