The Transition

Grief is like the Ocean, constantly moving and unpredictable. When the skies look calm and clear a strong warm front comes in from the south and takes you by surprise, before you know it you are being thrown among the swells.
Grief is anything but linear. No it’s a collection of ; staying numb enough to overcome the trauma, but not so numb you can’t function for your children, fleeting moments of happiness when fond memories pop up, and bouts of unexplainable rage. ( some people may think this is explainable but those who know me best know I hate confrontation.) Then when you are really lucky there is, laughter, tear inducing laughter because you finally had a moment that didn’t knock the wind out of you and you are so relieved you weep.

When John died, it felt like everything had frozen in time but somehow simultaneously everything was spinning. At first the moments feel clear, cut and dry.  The smile on his face as he said, “Sure.” on his way out the door, the slight chuckle, because he finally had me distracted enough he could make his Exit. Life has a funny way of humbling you when you think your done learning your lesson, and if I am quite honest with myself, and you, I had lost touch with what mattered and I had really lost myself along the way.  I wish I could have tuned out the noise of society and locked in on my husband as he struggled hard that last year. I wish I could have looked past my own bullshit to see what had slipped away, but if I had my husband would be kissing me on his way to work this morning and you wouldn’t be reading this blog.

How then do we move forward, through the traumas through the pain and guilt?

We adapt.

We change.

We evolve.

With any luck we evolve into better people. I can’t take the time to listen to my husband anymore but I can sit down to dinner with a stranger on a park bench and ask her about her life. I can’t punch a hole in the wall but, I can run. Boy can I run. I didn’t even know I could run so far. I can leap. Now I leap fearlessly because I’m no longer terrified of the fall. I snuggle friends and listen to them talk about Star wars. I unplug and engage when someone wants to talk about something I don’t care about, because when you care about people you pause. I pause more. When I am frustrated my first thought is, ” Is the anger I feel triggered by feelings of insecurity, is there truth to what’s being said?  ” I find that when I am honest with myself I almost always find space for me to grow.

I’m learning. That’s okay. I’m not going to do it perfect everyday and when I’m wrong I’m learning to apologize. I’m learning to ask questions when my children act out because I now understand that behavior is usually a symptom. These kids have been through so much, and still they have joy. They still have hope. If my children can hope then I can strive. I won’t do it perfect, but I will like who I’m laying down with on my pillow every night and that’s a pretty great place to start.