Grief, and the greyness of days past

A few people who I follow on WordPress have had losses recently – losses of the kind in which the world is grey and bleak from their grief.  I understand, and I want them to know that (and I know this sounds so condescending and patronizing, and I’m so very very sorry for that), in time, it does get better.  You see, in 2008, I became an orphan.  Sounds strange to call myself that, after all, I’m not a child.  Far from it, but to this day I still consider myself an orphan.

Now I want to say up front, my world isn’t a grey miasma any more, in fact it’s filled with a lot of laughter, and quite a bit of joy.  But sometimes I trip on something someone says/posts/does and a bit of the sadness comes back for a moment.  I see something, and I want to tell my dad, or I want to call my mom up and ask her how to make that soufflé the way she used to.  And I can’t.  And it makes me sad again.

I had a Livejournal going at that time, still do.  Just don’t really post to it.  But all the talk of grief got me thinking, and I went in search of a post I knew I’d put out there.  I knew it was there – I’ve actually sought it out a few times in the past so that I can see that the heaviness in my chest has lifted, and my world is full of sunshine again.  Writing does help – it frees your soul to dance again.  I am certain you will stumble a bit at first, and have 2 left feet for quite a while, but the dance steps of life will come back to you.  Just listen for the music.

From July 9, 2008

Yesterday was worse I think than Thursday, when I found out my mom had passed away.  I said her eulogy.  Barb wrote it.  I broke down in the middle, and Brad had to read until I could again.I know it’s normal to feel the way I feel.  The funeral director told me it was.  Doesn’t make it better tho.  I’m sure it will pass.  Just don’t like this feeling of disinterest in life.  I’m not like this.  I’m normally a pain in the ass, chirpy and bouncy to the point of annoyance.  I want that back.  That is the me I know, not this lethargic grumpy grouch I’ve become.

Part of me, the me I love, must be lurking beneath the layers tho – I have a funny thing to share about my mother – in her safety deposit box, in pride of place, right on top of the coins she had collected, was this little blue piece of wool string.  Plain jane string.  Nothing to mark why it was there.  No note, nada.  I broke out in hysterical laughter.  My mother, queen of pack rats, had paid good money to put a piece of string into a safety deposit box.  lol – I couldn’t help but laugh.  Her house is packed to the rafters with her nick nack paddy whack junk, and here is a piece of string stored safely away in a bank.  I can’t help but hope she did it to make us all laugh, cause I’m really tired of crying.

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