top of page
Search

you just have to go through it

I haven't written for awhile, and the truth is, it's hard for me to think beyond loss and grief most of the time. Not that I don't experience love and joy and fun and hope... I do. Every day. I have a lot to love about life. I bring the word AND into the picture as much as I can. Grieving and living, crying and smiling, heaviness and lightness... simultaneously. But the words of wisdom, or whatever these blog posts are supposed to be, don't come as easily in the face of grief.... because there's a big piece of my heart that was ripped out on October 24th. And it ain't never coming back.


So today, I am back and I am speaking from my heart. Possibly to help others navigate their own grief process, whether it's an old or new journey, or perhaps only for my own processing. And if you're like, "God, she's still talking about this?" Consider yourself lucky that you haven't experienced the brutal heartbreak of losing a parent. And if you have, and you're still asking yourself that question, I can only say that we are all on our own journey. And this is mine.


You know that kid's book, Going on a Bear Hunt? Hated that book. But the hook line is .... "we can't go over it, we can't go under it, we've got to go through it." And this "through it" business has really hit me recently. There is no fix for the loss of a parent. Nothing that is going to take your pain away, or change the circumstances. And the no fixing part is tough as shit. I am a fixer. And no matter what I do, I can't make this better... I just have to go through it. And some days, I'm just done. The exhaustion and heartache are too much. The reality that my Dad isn't coming back is excruciating, and extremely hard to process. Even though I know he is dead.


Grief is intense. You can be washing the dishes replaying horrific scenes in your head and no one even knows. You're bawling your eyes out one minute walking upstairs, then pulling it together to answer a question. It's fucking weird. Grief is like an annoying friend you learned to tolerate as a kid. She kind of sucks but you've learned to love her at the same time because your mom said you need to include her. So you're like, yeah okay. I'll do my best with her popping out of nowhere and not ever really leaving me alone.


So, hey, grief. I will tolerate you. I will welcome you as best I can,

and I can also share what I've learned from you.


Grief is lonely. Life goes on for everyone around you, and you're alone in your thoughts most of the time.

Grief is scary. It reminds you that death is imminent and life is not guaranteed tomorrow.

Grief comes at unexpected times. Like in Whole Foods when a Bruce Springsteen song comes on and you walk around with tears streaming down your face feeling like you're going to puke.

Grief can make you hate life sometimes. Like how can it just go on without your dad?

Grief can make you hate people sometimes. Like let's put some shit into perspective and stop living life with the "just getting by" motto. My Dad died walking the dog and you're telling me you're having a hard time because life is hard? What do you think is going to change if you don't change it?

Grief can bring out the worst in people. It can freak the fuck out of people and can show you their true colors.

Grief can help you see the best in people. They show up and love you even when you feel like you're stuck in mud and don't even want to get out of bed.

Grief conversations are treated the same as sex conversations with some people. So taboo! God forbid we talk about anything that brings up any uncomfortable emotions for people. Stay surface level, please!

Grief can be debilitating. It hurts. Physically. Emotionally. All of you.

Grief can cause you to dread the future. People are talking about the summer with a pep in their step. But why would I want the summer to come when I don't get to be with my Dad? He's been a part of my summers since as long as I can remember.

Grief is here to stay. Not bringing it up doesn't mean I am not thinking about it. I am ALWAYS thinking about it. It's in front of my face, beside me, behind me, within me. Six months is the allotted grief period that some people have given... bullshit. We are learning to live without someone who has been part of our lives forever, if you're lucky like I was. And if the relationship was complicated, the grief is even more complicated. There is no freaking timeline, don't fall for that shit. And there are also no stages of grief, that was debunked.

Grief can cause you to act like a toddler. You crave routine, blankets, books, favorite songs, sleep, hugs (sometimes) and curling up in a ball.

Grief can heal. It brings out all the love you ever felt for a person and encourages you to honor and remember them in ways you never did when they were alive. They become ever-present.


I am lucky to have you here grief,

you remind me that I feel all of this because I love my Dad will all of my heart.


Grief is for everyone.

There is no escaping it.

So move over and make room.

Even if she annoys the shit out of you sometimes.


And in between the grief, there is life. So let's live it. Even if it feels really hard.


And the storm rolls in

Like a hurricane of grey

When the power goes

And you're all alone

Are you satisfied

When the well runs dry

Tell me are you satisfied

When the well runs dry

                  -Briscoe







199 views2 comments

Recent Posts

See All

2 Comments


I opened it right on time. I feel grief now. I was asked to leave the place I invested so much into and it hurts because sometimes personal wins over a collective vision. Reading your thoughts helped to feel what I feel. I feel sad and angry at the same time. I feel clear as the hidden things became evident and I can move forward.

Like

I have felt every single thing that you have mentioned here. Thank you for putting these thoughts into words.

It is all so hard. I hate it, yet there’s nothing I can do about it except go through it. We are in this strange, life altering experience together babe.

Like
bottom of page