1. It's never going to end. It may shift and take new shapes, but it is a part of me and always will be.
2. The amount of work and intention that goes into, not just living with grief, but incorporating it into every part of my life, so that it doesn't rule over it, is staggering.
3. Grief has taken on her own personality, and I don't hate her anymore. I mean, yes she can be extremely annoying...
She tags along to my son’s sporting events, reminding us of empty chairs where a Dad and grandparents might sit. She feels entitled to control the radio in my car, "Let's turn the song to something he sang to you once."
She hides away in my backpack on quiet hikes and pokes me in the back.
“Remember?” – she says. She knows I
can’t forget, but she still asks. She sizes up every new
friend I make. "Are you sure this one's up for talking about your dead husband when she talks about her very alive one?"
She is often inconvenient, loud (obnoxious even). Like an annoying house guest I can’t get to
leave.
But I’ll admit, some days, when I’m alone and the bustle of the day to day has slowed some; I’ll ask her if she wants to cuddle up on the couch. She shakes with excitement and snuggles right it. She loves it when it’s just the two of us, when she has my undivided attention.
It’s in those moments, she quiets down. I smile at her, and let her put my head on her shoulder. I thank her for staying close.
When the rest of the world seems
to have moved on, when the days try to pass by too fast, grief brings me back
to me, to what’s important. She reminds
me that this all ends. Then asks, “So
what do want to do tomorrow?”
