a heavy coat

3 months. 3 months since Heaven took a whole new meaning.

Why are death-anniversaries a thing? Why does it make it feel more ‘’ugh’’ every time “that certain date”  is on the calendar? 

I feel that writing itch. Yet the words are gucked up in me. And getting my thoughts out feels like herding cats. But I must just start typing. That's the only way to unguck the the guck.

Just start. 

So… 

I attempt to describe grief. Yet I wonder if grief is even describable. 

And everybody tells you grief is really just love - in a heavy coat (Shannon Bary) But it takes a hot minute to actually see it that way… 

For grief is also a slice of horror you live with everyday. 

Grief is present. There in the front row of a swollen auditorium, you mindfully are staring at the closed casket in front of you, and you rest your elbow on your friend's shoulder, ‘’I may puke.’’ You tell yourself to stay present, for these are the last moments you get to physically be with her on earth. And the reality of that solemn, makeup caked face under that cold lid just is about more than the heart can bear. In those chairs, you feel grief weigh so heavy you wonder if your breath will stop too. The ribs may cave, the heartbreak is flooding through. 

Then. You and grief go home and try to live together. 

It’s weird. 

It's awkward. People don't know what to say or do with you. And you dont blame them one bit. For you don't know either. 

Those first weeks after death are fog. So much fog. That fog is unexplainable. You go through the motions of life, yet your mind is so consumed with shock that you cannot think straight and you have to mentally will yourself to do the next thing. It's a form of torture. 

I wonder if love is the greatest gift, but also one of the cruellest things to the heart…

And

life really does keep life-ing…

Somehow, somehow, only God knows how, it's three months later. 

And we are still standing. breathing. and coping. 

The grief is just as deep, yet you have started learning how to carry that grief now. You carry it with you every single day. It's there. Smack dab in the center of everything. It's. Just. There. 

But the thing is. Grief is not an emotion. So you learn that grieving doesn’t mean walking around every day with greasy hair and brain fog and puffy eyes. It doesn't even mean crying everyday. Grief is so much more than emotion. So a person can cope, they can plan trips and go to work and pay bills and plan social evenings and heartily take part in civilization. They can laugh. But the whole time they are still wearing the heavy cloak of grief. 

Quietly, you miss your loved one. Yet it's the loudest thing. 

So that's why when people ask how I am, it's so hard to know what to say. For I am okay. I am coping. And there's this astronomical hole in the center of my life, everyday. And I have hope. Learning how to carry grief is just a day-by-day, wobbly learning experience. 

I’m coping with a side of wrestling, marinated in blessings. 

And I see God. Grief does that. Grief reveals the pulse of God’s heart.

There are times it thwacks you, with no consideration.

And there is the everyday-ness of grief. 

Grief is persistent. It will not leave you alone. It just simply hangs around, every corner of the day, demanding to be felt.

Last night i read that Lysa Terkuerst has a new book coming out and my very first instinct was, ‘’tell eddie.’’ and then right smack on the heels of that thought, so close that the second thought rudely ran over the first thought and smushed it to the gravel was, ‘’i can’t.’’ everytime i see red geraniums, I see her, for that was her favourite flower. that's why I planted them by the schoolhouse. Everytime lavender is in a drink or in a flower pot or in a perfume bottle, she is my very first thought. Those daily reminders, that just sit there waiting to be noticed. Those hit just as deep as the moments of tears. This is the everyday-ness of grief. 

When you have lived with someone, there is barely a square inch that's free from their existence. The remembrance of her glimmers everywhere. It's becoming a comfort.

I'm learning to be okay with grief. I remember those moments of watching her coffin be wheeled down the aisle and thinking with resignation ‘’this is my life now.’’ I remember how much I just hated grief. I hated it so much i just wanted to scream and punch it with all my force. I remember the feeling of sitting in the living room after her funeral, just sitting there in the arm chair… what now? What do you do after you have buried your friend like that? All I wanted to do was call eddie because we always called each other when the other one needed a listening ear. But that very same listening ear that always was there, was now 6 feet under, in desert soil. 

This morning as I sat in my hammock and watched the sun through the tree sieve, I thought of grief. It appears it’s gonna be sticking around for a long time, so might as well see it for what it really is…

I don't see it as a ‘’bad thing’’ anymore. I see it way more as pure love. I’m willing to accept grief. I’m willing to make companions out of it. 

Eddie was the most unexpected gift to me and she died the most unexpectant way and I wonder if maybe this all is teaching expectant things in the most unexpected ways. 

So I'm learning. I'm learning how to wear this heavy coat. 

Sure, grief is a slice of horror to live with everyday, yet it also is so much more than just heartbreak and horror and Heaven songs. It's the deepest love you carry in your heart for a dear soul. It's a life of living off prayers. It's knowing you would do this all over again if you had to cuz she is worth every single blessed ounce of this.

That is why, sometimes I even thank God for the grief, because it really is just love in a heavy raincoat.