Grief Is Love And It Lives In Our Bones
I woke up to the alarm Saturday in a funk. Like a little grey cloud had taken up residence above my head. We had a busy day ahead and so I kicked it into gear to get out the door for my middle guy's rugby tournament in Fergus, about an hour away. The kids in the car had been giggly and reached a fever pitch as kids in a car that aren't allowed screens are apt to do and Adam was annoyed and irritated (that dark cloud was hanging over him too). We were late of course and we missed the teams being piped in with bagpipes that my mom's cousin was playing which made me feel miffed. It was freezing and we shivered for 4 hours and there were hour long gaps between the games. I had a nice visit with my Aunt who made the trip to join us but overall I knew something was brewing under the surface.
We went for lunch nearby and it was packed, it took a long time to get our food and each of us managed to spill something from water to chicken wings to ice cream, all crashing to the floor because that's just the way the day was rolling out. I ordered a ginger beer and they brought me a ginger beer with alcohol in it which I didn't even know was a thing so Adam had to drink it and it was gross, nothing was going very well. We finally finished and made our way home where I promptly slept for 2 hours.
In my dreamscape I realized that 2 months ago on that very day was the last day we spent with Gary. It was by far the worst day of all the worst days after his surgery. We spent so much of that day dealing with hospital bullshit and being asked why Gary wasn't in hospice or why we didn't take him home. He was in rough shape and uncomfortable and we were spent and drawn and beside ourselves. It was an unbearable day that we had to bear.
I didn't connect this when I woke up feeling off. I was too busy and distracted going through the tasks of the day and it wasn't until I stopped and listened to my body saying "lay down" "just rest" that it was revealed to me and it suddenly became understandable. I wasn't irritated at what was happening now, I was re-experiencing the memory of the love and fear and hopelessness of that day 2 months ago and it was deeply uncomfortable. Like a gnawing pain, one that aches and broods and pulls you away from anything delightful. It's like that, grief. It has hidden repeaters and waves that crash down on you even though you thought you were far from the water. It catches up to you no matter how busy you are, no matter how many tasks you have to attend to.
When I woke up from my nap I acknowledged to myself how sad I was and that this day may be hard for the months to come. I got dressed and went out to see friends and when they asked me how I was doing I said "today was a tough one, I was very, very sad" and they understood and didn't judge because they know grief is like that too.
I got home and had spent all my energy being social. When I couldn't sleep and I laid awake for hours I realized again that 2 months ago I left the hospital and said "I love you" to Gary for the last time while he was alive. The nurses had said he could live another 17 days but I got the dreaded call at 3am and I raced back to him but didn't get there in time. Sleep was going to allude me again, 2 months later.
I laid there and I could still feel my body collapsing to the floor. I remembered the relief that he wasn't suffering any longer. I remembered holding my mom and making her promise me she would never die. I remembered the shitty hospital tissues. I remembered hugging my sister and my stepsisters and wondering what we do next. I remembered the darkness and the dove on the door that I didn't see when I arrived indicating that he was dead. I remembered feeling shock and anger and sorrow in a way that will always stay with me. I remembered regretting leaving the hospital when my body was then telling me I should stay. These memories don't just disappear with the life of your loved one. I don't want them to go away. I never want to forget how my body and my family carried me through those dark days.
My body remembers these things because they are proof of love. They are what really matters and they are what make my life rich and full. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. It's not always pleasant to remember but I'm glad I will carry the memory of this love in my body for the months and years to come and when I don't remember my body will remind me if I'm listening closely. Love is hard and messy and it fucking hurts like hell sometimes.
In the last 2 months I've been encouraged to move through this grief quickly, to get on with it and get back to the party. I've been told that time heals and that Gary would want me to be happy. But I carry this grief with me boldly and proudly because it's really just love. This sadness that I'm in has brought me great joy because the depth of it is equal to the depth of love. I don't want it to be over with. I don't want it to go quicker and no party anywhere ever will be as good as being loved by Gary and as it turns out you can be sad AND attend parties I learned yesterday. And I know that not every 10th of the month will feel this way. Last month I was still in a total fog and couldn't tell you how I felt or what I did. But this month was a gentle reminder that my body remembers. I will carry this love in my bones. My body remembers how deeply unfair this loss is and I'm grateful for the sadness because it means I am alive and I am loved, even when it's terrible and even when I forget.
We went for lunch nearby and it was packed, it took a long time to get our food and each of us managed to spill something from water to chicken wings to ice cream, all crashing to the floor because that's just the way the day was rolling out. I ordered a ginger beer and they brought me a ginger beer with alcohol in it which I didn't even know was a thing so Adam had to drink it and it was gross, nothing was going very well. We finally finished and made our way home where I promptly slept for 2 hours.
In my dreamscape I realized that 2 months ago on that very day was the last day we spent with Gary. It was by far the worst day of all the worst days after his surgery. We spent so much of that day dealing with hospital bullshit and being asked why Gary wasn't in hospice or why we didn't take him home. He was in rough shape and uncomfortable and we were spent and drawn and beside ourselves. It was an unbearable day that we had to bear.
I didn't connect this when I woke up feeling off. I was too busy and distracted going through the tasks of the day and it wasn't until I stopped and listened to my body saying "lay down" "just rest" that it was revealed to me and it suddenly became understandable. I wasn't irritated at what was happening now, I was re-experiencing the memory of the love and fear and hopelessness of that day 2 months ago and it was deeply uncomfortable. Like a gnawing pain, one that aches and broods and pulls you away from anything delightful. It's like that, grief. It has hidden repeaters and waves that crash down on you even though you thought you were far from the water. It catches up to you no matter how busy you are, no matter how many tasks you have to attend to.
When I woke up from my nap I acknowledged to myself how sad I was and that this day may be hard for the months to come. I got dressed and went out to see friends and when they asked me how I was doing I said "today was a tough one, I was very, very sad" and they understood and didn't judge because they know grief is like that too.
I got home and had spent all my energy being social. When I couldn't sleep and I laid awake for hours I realized again that 2 months ago I left the hospital and said "I love you" to Gary for the last time while he was alive. The nurses had said he could live another 17 days but I got the dreaded call at 3am and I raced back to him but didn't get there in time. Sleep was going to allude me again, 2 months later.
I laid there and I could still feel my body collapsing to the floor. I remembered the relief that he wasn't suffering any longer. I remembered holding my mom and making her promise me she would never die. I remembered the shitty hospital tissues. I remembered hugging my sister and my stepsisters and wondering what we do next. I remembered the darkness and the dove on the door that I didn't see when I arrived indicating that he was dead. I remembered feeling shock and anger and sorrow in a way that will always stay with me. I remembered regretting leaving the hospital when my body was then telling me I should stay. These memories don't just disappear with the life of your loved one. I don't want them to go away. I never want to forget how my body and my family carried me through those dark days.
My body remembers these things because they are proof of love. They are what really matters and they are what make my life rich and full. It's not all sunshine and rainbows. It's not always pleasant to remember but I'm glad I will carry the memory of this love in my body for the months and years to come and when I don't remember my body will remind me if I'm listening closely. Love is hard and messy and it fucking hurts like hell sometimes.
In the last 2 months I've been encouraged to move through this grief quickly, to get on with it and get back to the party. I've been told that time heals and that Gary would want me to be happy. But I carry this grief with me boldly and proudly because it's really just love. This sadness that I'm in has brought me great joy because the depth of it is equal to the depth of love. I don't want it to be over with. I don't want it to go quicker and no party anywhere ever will be as good as being loved by Gary and as it turns out you can be sad AND attend parties I learned yesterday. And I know that not every 10th of the month will feel this way. Last month I was still in a total fog and couldn't tell you how I felt or what I did. But this month was a gentle reminder that my body remembers. I will carry this love in my bones. My body remembers how deeply unfair this loss is and I'm grateful for the sadness because it means I am alive and I am loved, even when it's terrible and even when I forget.
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| You can be sad AND go to a party see! |
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