I'm so excited to share the inaugural post of my grief series with you, and even more excited that it was written by a blogger I adore and admire, Meredith from The Mom of the Year.
Meredith is the whole package - she's funny, she's sweet, she's hardworking, but she doesn't take herself too seriously. She has her own Mom of the Year series on her blog, and one of her requirements is no profanity. I totally love that she can be so funny and wildly popular and clean at the same time!
She's sharing a loss that has hit many of us - the loss of a parent - and how she looks for pieces of healing wherever she can get them.
Grief. It stinks. It's messy, unsorted, and huge. I wish I could just click a button and cross it off the list. The List. It's endless. There is always life, and there always stuff to do. There never is just some magical perfect time to sit down, shut down the world and cry my heart out because my mom left me a year and a half ago.
Meredith is the whole package - she's funny, she's sweet, she's hardworking, but she doesn't take herself too seriously. She has her own Mom of the Year series on her blog, and one of her requirements is no profanity. I totally love that she can be so funny and wildly popular and clean at the same time!
She's sharing a loss that has hit many of us - the loss of a parent - and how she looks for pieces of healing wherever she can get them.
Grief. It stinks. It's messy, unsorted, and huge. I wish I could just click a button and cross it off the list. The List. It's endless. There is always life, and there always stuff to do. There never is just some magical perfect time to sit down, shut down the world and cry my heart out because my mom left me a year and a half ago.
I was 32 when she died. I had a 2 year old and a 7 month old. I couldn't hit the pause button and just grieve my heart out then and I can't now. And even if I had the time or energy, I know grief doesn't work that way. It is not an event; it is a process. I would love to hit up counseling with a vengeance, journal my fingers sore, and connect with a great local support group. But God hasn't allowed this time in my life to be about that kind of healing.
I have found my healing must come in pieces. In stolen pieces. In corners carved from the events of every day life. No one will give them to me; no one else will even recognize that I need these pieces. I just have to claim them and take them for myself when I can sneak them in.
Stolen healing might mean seeing a picture of her at my college graduation on the wall and silently cursing her out for missing out on other life events. Or sometimes I curse her out loud. Depending on how bold I am feeling. Mad is not an emotion I allow myself to feel often. It seems almost indulgent in this world of diapers, sippy cups, and preschool. But it's there, and sometimes I do feel it, and in those moments, the world makes a lot of sense.
Grieving might come when I see a friend's mom give her a hug and I take a second to just feel sad. There will be no more Mom hugs for me. And we all know how uniquely embracing those hugs are. It's very okay and not okay that I will never have this again all in the same moment, and recognition of this is healing.
I might mourn when thinking of something super-funny about my mother. Because she was funny. So very, very funny. God love MaryAnn because she could make the world laugh. I miss this. I miss laughing with her and being half-embarrassed/half-proud that she was so perfectly ridiculous. I miss you, Mom.
These slices of grief are all just slices. They are far from the real whole picture, but she was my mother. And she died. I can't just breathe normally and pretend it doesn't exist. So I heal in pieces--when life allows them and when I demand them. Will the grief ever be over? I doubt it. Is this the most inefficient way ever to find my peace? Probably, but it's how it's going to be right now.
