What I'd Like You to Know About Grief

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, is staggering. It's the constant tearing down and re-building of community, creating boundaries for myself that honor who I am and who I am still trying to become. 

3. Grief is always there, in every single moment.  She tags along to my son’s sporting events, pointing out the chairs where the Dad’s and grandparents sit.   She feels entitled to control the radio in my car, "Let's turn the song to something he sang to you once."  I slap her hand away. "Not today, please."

She hides away in my backpack on quiet hikes, poking me in the back. “Remember that time?" She knows I can’t forget, but she still asks.  She sizes up every new friend I make.  "Are you sure this one will be up for talking about your dead husband when she talks about her very alive one?" 

Her presence is 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 grabs a blanket, and snuggles right in.  She loves it when it’s just the two of us, when she has my undivided attention.  It's when I sit with her that she calms. I smile at her, and let her put her head on my shoulder. I thank her for staying close, for reminding me she remembers them too.  With her, they will never be forgotten, never lost. 

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 with childlike anticipation, “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”