Living Through Grief
I have been lost in a world of fantasy lately. In between work, household chores, sleeping and basic living I've been listening to a series of fantasy. And it has been glorious.
I get lost in books. Lost in the characters, the worlds. Entranced by the stories and even after they are over, they linger with me for quite some time. My husband has been on second shift for months, so most evenings it is just me, home alone. Home alone with the words of other realms shifting around me as I cook or clean or eat or knit. Adventures, loss, heartache, love and magic as the telling of the tales are played. I'm on book five of my current series. Hours and hours of being captivated.
And maybe that's why I dreamed of my mom last night. My mind has been open to the possibilities that only fiction ever leaves you open to. I don't remember how it began or how it ended exactly. But she spoke to me. I have no conscious memory of her words or her voice. But her very presence was so strong that for at least three and a half minutes this morning I forgot that she was gone. And when I remembered that fact I felt as though the swords and daggers in my stories had taken physical shape and sliced through me. But only for a mere moment. It was the absence and then the reality slamming back into place that hurt the most.
Each day gets a little easier. The grief never lessens. It's the living through it that becomes less devastating. I think that's the part that you're not prepared for, that no one can truly explain or comprehend until you've survived it. It never hurts less. The grief never dissipates. You live through it. You live with it, intertwined with the rest of your being. A part of you will always be a bit broken, a bit scarred. But the parts of you that are better, stronger, brighter for having known your loss are worth the scarring and the breaking.
I would trade not one second of this hurt if it meant losing a second of the time I had with my mom. Knowing her love, her laughter is why this hurts. In just a few short months, a year will have passed and that absolutely astounds my mind. How could that be possible? And yet here we are. I'm a little melancholy at the thought and a lot grateful we have already managed to make it this far into the future.
Day by day other things have changed; most for the better. I love my new job. I absolutely love it. I'm being challenged and I am surrounded by smart people who are allowed and expected to be smart. Some of my friends are experiencing some difficult times, and some are experiencing some well earned triumphs. Life is continuing on. I'm finally beginning to feel as though the grief is contained within life instead of feeling as though my life is being contained by grief.
I get lost in books. Lost in the characters, the worlds. Entranced by the stories and even after they are over, they linger with me for quite some time. My husband has been on second shift for months, so most evenings it is just me, home alone. Home alone with the words of other realms shifting around me as I cook or clean or eat or knit. Adventures, loss, heartache, love and magic as the telling of the tales are played. I'm on book five of my current series. Hours and hours of being captivated.
And maybe that's why I dreamed of my mom last night. My mind has been open to the possibilities that only fiction ever leaves you open to. I don't remember how it began or how it ended exactly. But she spoke to me. I have no conscious memory of her words or her voice. But her very presence was so strong that for at least three and a half minutes this morning I forgot that she was gone. And when I remembered that fact I felt as though the swords and daggers in my stories had taken physical shape and sliced through me. But only for a mere moment. It was the absence and then the reality slamming back into place that hurt the most.
Each day gets a little easier. The grief never lessens. It's the living through it that becomes less devastating. I think that's the part that you're not prepared for, that no one can truly explain or comprehend until you've survived it. It never hurts less. The grief never dissipates. You live through it. You live with it, intertwined with the rest of your being. A part of you will always be a bit broken, a bit scarred. But the parts of you that are better, stronger, brighter for having known your loss are worth the scarring and the breaking.
I would trade not one second of this hurt if it meant losing a second of the time I had with my mom. Knowing her love, her laughter is why this hurts. In just a few short months, a year will have passed and that absolutely astounds my mind. How could that be possible? And yet here we are. I'm a little melancholy at the thought and a lot grateful we have already managed to make it this far into the future.
Day by day other things have changed; most for the better. I love my new job. I absolutely love it. I'm being challenged and I am surrounded by smart people who are allowed and expected to be smart. Some of my friends are experiencing some difficult times, and some are experiencing some well earned triumphs. Life is continuing on. I'm finally beginning to feel as though the grief is contained within life instead of feeling as though my life is being contained by grief.
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| I even started my own snarky cross stitch wall. |
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