This isn’t easy to type, but it’s necessary.
I don’t like the month of May anymore.
I’m not particularly fond of spring either.
While some people are excited about spring flowers and sunshine…it just reminds me of the last major life change – I am still processing. March 26, 2015 my SUPERDad went into the hospital. May 7, 2015 he changed citizenship to Pearly Gates Drive for eternity. Spring takes me back to the forty-three day experience that I couldn’t forget if I tried.
I may be writing this for selfish reasons, as a part of my processing, but I also write for everyone who has had to learn the hard lesson that grief teaches. I write this for anyone who may feel any of the feelings I will express, but do not choose to share it with the world. I write for voice, and voice alone.
Sometimes, people just need to feel. Emote. Release. Vent. Scramble through the bramble – even when it’s painful. Sometimes people need to be ok with the fact that they are still not ok, and THAT’S OK. Sometimes, they just need a hug – no words involved. Maybe they need to cry – with no words involved. Sometimes, they don’t know what they need…but they want someone genuine to try to be there for them. Strong people don’t want to be strong while grieving. They want to be able to come unglued like everyone else… but sometimes they aren’t allowed to. The world doesn’t stop while you grieve. Assignments are still assigned, family roles don’t come to a standstill, and expectations don’t change.
In the gym, when you lift weights, it makes you stronger. Ask anyone who participates in weight lifting if they pain of lifting ever goes away. Or just search hash tags like #legday. Training can wear you out, but it shows you that you can push past the pain, eventually, and come out stronger. Grief does that, only some of us were not already preparing for it. It’s like having someone throw a barbell at you. If you don’t catch it, it will hurt. If you catch it, it could hurt. Case and point, grief hurts.
This isn’t a cry for help or sympathy. I respect the process. I know it has to happen. It doesn’t stop me from missing him daily. It doesn’t stop me from wishing that May 7th could temporarily fall of the calendar until I’m strong enough to face it. This is only the second time I’ve had to face this beast. And while I know I will get through it, it’s hard. For everyone who can’t say…words aren’t appropriate at the moment… For everyone who can’t express that the pain doesn’t go away…we just tolerate it…. For everyone who understands what it is to re-experience the memories… I understand.
I wish no one else would understand this, and that it’s just lethargic for me. Unfortunately, I doubt that.
April showers were really just tears. May flowers were placed in an urn. Dear Summer…