The ugly cloud(?) of grief

Man grief sucks. Just when you think you are doing ok, this big, black, ugly cloud comes crashing down on you. I don't even know that cloud is a good word. Because it isn't soft and fluffy. It's more like a boulder.... it slams you down and then holds you there for what seems like an eternity.

The pissy part is...that nobody can see the damn boulder of grief. Others don't understand why, 3 years (or 10 or 15...) later, you still have moments where the tears just come out of nowhere and won't stop. They don't understand why a simple event or object can make you sad... a flower, a pregnant woman, a movie, etc.

At church about 2 years after we lost Lilly, some folks did a skit during service (not uncommon in our church). The skit was about a girl who was getting married and moving out of mom and dad's house. Mike and I sat there and bawled through the whole thing. Not because you always cry at weddings. Because we both were realizing that that was something we would never get to do with our daughter. I will never shop for a wedding gown with her, help her choose her flowers, and dresses and food and.... the list goes on and on. And he will never walk her down the aisle. Those opportunities have been lost forever.

So some days... just the thought of leaving the house and seeing a toddler is unbearable. Because I don't have my toddler. And as the days and weeks and months and years pass... I will NEVER have my daughter. And I will always see little girls... teenage girls... young women... ladies... mommies..... and know what I have missed. All the stages that I have to say, "She would have been.... " instead of, "She is...". She would have been 3. Not she IS 3.

And it's not just the loss of a child that causes this boulder to crush you. My friend Terri lost her husband in November 2008. In 2005, they lost their daughter shortly before she was born. They were still working on figuring out how to live again. Then Bryan (whom she calls Bear) was diagnosed with cancer. He fought a good fight. But in the end that damn cancer won.

Ter is now trying to deal with 2 boulders. One from the death of her daughter, and one from the death of her husband.

Each day is a battle. Right now, she is struggling with meal times. Since these were their "together times", she misses Bear indescribely (sp?) at meal times. Along with that is the struggle to find meals for one... after cooking for 2 for so long. And again... little things will make her cry.... a special ingredient or dish that Bear liked.... seeing his empty seat... just *thinking* about cooking his favorite meal.

I'm not sure the point of this long and rambling post. It has kind of gone all over the place... I apologize.

I guess I just hope that someone will read this and will understand a little better... will be a little more sympathetic... will be less quick to judge that mom who is "still crying after all these years". I remember going to a meeting with some co-workers and the discussion in the car was about another co-worker whose dad had died 10 years prior. She took the day (the anniversary of her father's death) off every year and she and her mom and sisters would go shopping and out to eat and to the cemetery. It was their way of coping, and remembering. It just so happened that the day of the meeting, was the anniversary of J's dad's death. One of the women in the car with me made mention of the fact that J wouldn't be there. Another asked why. And when the answer was, "Because of her dad" the reply was, "It's been 10 years, she needs to get over it."

*sigh*

THAT is the attitude I so desperately want to change.

That damn, huge, ugly, heavy, dark, dreary, boulder of grief is not something we can avoid. The person who is grieving will never... I repeat NEVER get over it. We may be able to avoid the boulder now and then. It may even get slightly smaller and not bowl us over quite as frequently.... but it will always ALWAYS be there.

So please, if you know someone who has had a loss....no matter how long ago it was. Be gentle with them. Let them know it is OK to cry (even if it's been 10 years). Hug them. Talk to them. Let them talk. Let them scream. Just BE THERE for them.

And don't be afraid to talk about the person who has died. Use their name if you know it. Ask their name if you don't know it.

Ok... I can't seem to come to a close here, so I will just end it.