Grief and I have become well acquainted. Over the last few years, life has presented me with multiple opportunities to feel the burden of grief. In less than three calendar years, I have grieved for:
the loss of my family and the future I had planned and worked toward for years, as a result of a pending divorce because my husband left;
the loss of our “baseball family” and “homeschool family”, the loss of people I had counted as friends, and the loss of positions of service I found purpose and identity in, all losses of a cruel ripple effect of said pending divorce;
the slow death of my mother, as I have had to watch her fade away under the cruel hand of Early-Onset Alzheimer’s Disease;
the loss of my youngest brother to suicide; and
the brokenness in my family in the wake of my brother’s suicide.
(And these are not even counting the many moments of grief caused by the general state of the world during these last few years..)
Don't get me wrong, I have joy in my life. I am insanely blessed with two incredible sons who give me reason to keep fighting every day. I have family that has my back. I have a few friendships that have withstood the storms of my life and have proven to be some of the dearest relationships I’ll ever have. I have a faith that gives me hope I can cling to. I have an incredible career that is an answer to so many prayers. I have dogs and cats who drive me crazy but fill my life with love when my boys are at their father’s house. I could go on and on, because I truly do have so much cause to be joyful.
But grief doesn’t care. Because that heifer will rear her ugly head whenever she darn well pleases and catch me off guard when I least expect it. Most days, I can keep all my grief compartmentalized. This helps in managing the overwhelming weight of it all, but some days, things get all messy inside and all of a sudden grief is spilling out all over the place and sometimes I am not even sure exactly what triggered it or which grief I am actually grieving in that moment. The worst days are when they all compound together into this giant, suffocating mess of grief that feels like it will swallow me whole.
Those are the days when the headaches come.
Those are a blessing in a way, though; because then I am forced to shut down and disconnect. And it is only on the headache days when I don’t feel the guilt. The headaches are the only relief from the guilt for not being stronger for my boys; for not being able to support my friends and family members who are grieving their own griefs; for not even reading, let alone responding to texts and messages from people I truly care about and love; for feeling so completely helpless in so many areas of my life...
But, eventually the headaches subside, and I am left with nothing else but to continue marching forward in this life, seeking joy while the overwhelming weight of grief grabs hold of me and drags along for the journey.
