Wednesday, 21 May 2014

The weight of grief

Some days, like yesterday, grief is like a balloon filled with helium that is tied around your wrist.  You know it is there, you have to pull down the string so that you can enter a room, make sure it doesn't get caught when the door closes and it'll probably bump you in the head when you are driving in your car with the windows down or even get between you and the windshield so you have a hard time seeing.  But like a helium balloon, symbol of birthdays or parties, it can bring you joy.  A sad smile will spread on your lips and might even put a little sparkle in your eyes.  This joy is when you remember times spent with your loved one.  Looking through pictures can help this along too.  On these days you can think of what the person might say to you, for example, I was passing the weed eater and I was imagining what my father would say to me if he noticed I was leaning the machine on my hip.  He would have told me if I couldn't do the whole yard without leaning it on my hip, then to separate the yard over a few days. So I removed it from my hip, squared my shoulders and finished the back yard and front yard.  Thanks Dad.  I even read the instruction manual to find out how to get more whip out.  But then days like today, where I overslept, did not find the right breakfast to keep me going, days like today are brutal.  I have no focus and I'm always hungry.  It will not be a superhero productive day like yesterday.  Today the grief feels like a rock the size of a basketball in the pit of my stomach.  This rock has a string tied around it and on the other end is my collarbone.  This string is too short so it forces me to hunch over.  I try to imagine it like an elastic.  I know today I will not be able to remove the rock so the elastic allows me to hold my head up above the grief and see that the sun is shining and my daughter is smiling at me.  But I know, and I am going to agonize all day, that the elastic is going to snap and I will have my face buried in my pillow trying to cry the boulder out of my mouth so I can feel better tomorrow.

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