I wasn’t sure what grief would feel like this winter. A lot of it’s sharp edges have been worn down over the previous years. I’m accustomed to things that were new. I’ve adapted to Greg’s absence.
But yesterday was 47 months and it hit hard. Maybe it’s the stacking of losses and lesser griefs that add weight to what’s already there. Maybe it’s having less space to be a griever and fewer people who notice or care. Maybe it’s the passing of time I see on my son’s face and how little he was in our last pictures as a family of three. Or maybe it’s all that and more.
One thing I hope this blog does is dispel the notion that grief is temporary, straightforward, something that heals and leaves no scar behind or something that can and should be ignored.
Maybe little griefs can be handled that way . But not the ones that rock your world and fundamentally change who you are.
I find myself smiling a bit less these days and sighing a bit more. I find myself talking to Jesus at night after doom-scrolling on social media because eventually I have to face my feelings and Jesus already knows. I find myself mentally preparing for tough moments sure to come and avoiding Christmas shopping because my heart just isn’t in it.
This is my grief today. It shifts throughout the years and seasons but on the precipice of year 4, it is a pit in my stomach and exhaustion in my bones.
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