Time
Seven years ago, today, we lost this guy.
He was pretty great.
Time may not heal all wounds, but it does alter them.
The first year, I was wracked with grief. Add a touch of the Seasonal Affective Disorder commonly found on Whidbey Island, WA and there were nights when I just couldn't stop crying. I thought I might never stop.
Time changed things. I did stop. I was able to fall asleep without crying. Peace increased.
But time moves on.
When I was pregnant with Jack, I desperately grieved for his loss of one grandpa while praising God for the amazing one he still has. A big, round, blubbering woman, sitting in the shower, sobbing. This is real life.
Seven years later and I sometimes find myself not knowing how to grieve. The raw truth is that I think of my dad every day but I am not necessarily sad every day. The sting of grief is like a permanently pulled muscle that becomes dull with time, but doesn't leave. It becomes a part of us. It is always there and we learn to live with it. We learn to live happy lives with it. But twist just the right way and an unbelievably sharp pain shoots through your body and you can't breath.
But time goes on.
And you do breath again. And you laugh. And thrive. And sometimes cry. And that's ok.
There is no right way to do life. There is no right way to grieve. We aren't the ones to decide if others have moved on too quickly or if they need to "get over it." We aren't the ones to compare pain. Death, infertility, divorce, job loss. There are hard things in life and we deal with them differently. That's why I can't write about my resilient mother or hard-working, impressive brother. Their paths have been different and their own. Let's all show a little love to someone today by being understanding and accepting.
Love others and let time go on. We grieve deeply if we have loved deeply. And that is a beautiful, beautiful blessing.
Time may not heal all wounds, but it does alter them.
The first year, I was wracked with grief. Add a touch of the Seasonal Affective Disorder commonly found on Whidbey Island, WA and there were nights when I just couldn't stop crying. I thought I might never stop.
Time changed things. I did stop. I was able to fall asleep without crying. Peace increased.
But time moves on.
When I was pregnant with Jack, I desperately grieved for his loss of one grandpa while praising God for the amazing one he still has. A big, round, blubbering woman, sitting in the shower, sobbing. This is real life.
Seven years later and I sometimes find myself not knowing how to grieve. The raw truth is that I think of my dad every day but I am not necessarily sad every day. The sting of grief is like a permanently pulled muscle that becomes dull with time, but doesn't leave. It becomes a part of us. It is always there and we learn to live with it. We learn to live happy lives with it. But twist just the right way and an unbelievably sharp pain shoots through your body and you can't breath.
But time goes on.
And you do breath again. And you laugh. And thrive. And sometimes cry. And that's ok.
There is no right way to do life. There is no right way to grieve. We aren't the ones to decide if others have moved on too quickly or if they need to "get over it." We aren't the ones to compare pain. Death, infertility, divorce, job loss. There are hard things in life and we deal with them differently. That's why I can't write about my resilient mother or hard-working, impressive brother. Their paths have been different and their own. Let's all show a little love to someone today by being understanding and accepting.
Love others and let time go on. We grieve deeply if we have loved deeply. And that is a beautiful, beautiful blessing.
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