A Slice of Grief
This morning has been one of the hardest for me since I lost my dad two weeks ago. My mom went back to work today, so I made sure I was up and awake for her. I know that there were things that my dad would do in the morning to help her get ready, but I didn’t know what any of those things were and it made me miss him even more.
Grief is funny to me. It’s not like I am always a lump on the floor crying and getting nothing done. It hits me at the oddest of moments and it’s like a ton of bricks. It’s a sickening nausea, followed by chest pains, which may or may not be entirely real. At that moment, you just want to fall over. The worst part is seeing that even through this moment of complete agony, life continues to move on. The trash man comes by, the mail gets delivered, people head off to work, jobs still get done…
After this swift consumption of sadness, you pick yourself up, tell yourself that there are things to be done and you move along throughout your day. Waiting for the next moment of grief to take you out at the knees…you know it’s coming but you can convince yourself to go on until your next dose of pain. I imagine that to a bystander, it looks much like a small child having a temper tantrum. Although, I think it strikes a sympathetic cord rather than an annoying cord.
One of the hardest things for me to accept is that “time heals all wounds.” I hate to think of the moment when I close my eyes to picture my dad and I can’t, or the moment when I no longer think I hear him calling my nickname….
Grief is funny to me. It’s not like I am always a lump on the floor crying and getting nothing done. It hits me at the oddest of moments and it’s like a ton of bricks. It’s a sickening nausea, followed by chest pains, which may or may not be entirely real. At that moment, you just want to fall over. The worst part is seeing that even through this moment of complete agony, life continues to move on. The trash man comes by, the mail gets delivered, people head off to work, jobs still get done…
After this swift consumption of sadness, you pick yourself up, tell yourself that there are things to be done and you move along throughout your day. Waiting for the next moment of grief to take you out at the knees…you know it’s coming but you can convince yourself to go on until your next dose of pain. I imagine that to a bystander, it looks much like a small child having a temper tantrum. Although, I think it strikes a sympathetic cord rather than an annoying cord.
One of the hardest things for me to accept is that “time heals all wounds.” I hate to think of the moment when I close my eyes to picture my dad and I can’t, or the moment when I no longer think I hear him calling my nickname….
