Grief

Last night the tears came hard and fast. I hadn't been myself. Apparently, I have appeared down. But I couldn't quite put my finger on it right away. 

Then it came. The grief. The overpowering sadness. The realization that he's gone and can't come back. The unfairness of it. It all arrived quickly and knocked me down. The tears wouldn't stop. I struggled to catch my breath. 

There didn't seem to be any noticeable trigger. Instead, it appeared like a sudden downpour on a cloudless day. It felt raw and fresh. I'll admit, I was surprised by the intensity. The ferocity of pain and sadness.

I wanted to wrap myself in something of his. A sweatshirt or a t-shirt. The loss felt so distant and I craved to be near him again in some sort of sense. I had to stop myself from crawling into bed with Jacob and holding him as I cried, the one thing that will always connect us. 

And on top of all of that, the knowledge that it will never get better or easier. It will become different. The pain may be spread farther apart, but it will always be there. Lurking just below. 

Even today, it continues. A grief hangover. My eyes puffy and red. There's a heavy lead something in my chest, holding me down. Even my arms and legs feel hot and heavy. 

I feel alone on my island of grief. But that's okay. There's seems like nothing anyone could say or do to help me through this wave of grief. It'll pass and it'll come again. I feel like I need to just experience these emotions when they come. I don't need your pity. When I need your comfort, I'll come to you. But this pain and grief feels like mine alone. And mine alone to work through. 


I think with Father's Day on Sunday and Jacob's birthday around the corner, I'm stuck in a place of ... I don't even know. Sorrow of what he's missing out on. Mourning what Jacob is missing out on with him not around. And fear that I alone am not enough for Jacob. 

So no, I guess I'm not okay. But that's okay. I don't need to be okay right now. And I hope you can be okay with that too. I ask that you just keep letting me process my thoughts and feelings as I need to. I ask that you just let me be not okay sometimes. I promise that if it gets to be too much, I'll reach out. Maybe check in sometimes if you feel you need to, but try not to be upset if I only give noncommittal answers. Sometimes, that's the best I can do. 

I've often thought in the past few months that even when I wasn't doing okay, it was better to just act like I was. Easier for people to think things are fine. Easier than trying to answers questions about how I really feel when I can't even explain it to myself. But I'm just not sure I have the strength to do that anymore. 

I'm realizing just how tricky this feeling of grief can be. I will probably never understand it. But it is completely a part of me now. And I guess I'm just trying to figure out how to be okay with that.