What they don’t tell you about grief, what they won’t tell you about grief, what they can’t tell you about grief until you’re soaked in it, until your fingers are pruned up and look like those pathetic white dusted raisins in that bran cereal is that grief is never ending.
Oh, after the initial “mourning period” you’ll have days where you’ll laugh and smile and then feel guilty because guilt is just as much a part of your life as the empty hole the passing of someone you love leaves but mostly grief is just a series of daily heartbreaks. Well, more like fractures really. Fractures of your soul, tiny shards that don’t break off completely but don’t quite heal either. You’ll try to wrap your heart in a hard-shelled cast to try to keep it together and sometimes you’ll succeed and sometimes nothing stops the tiny tears to that delicate organ.
Grief is like that jar of powdered ginger that sits in the back of your spice cupboard unnoticed until you knock it over and it spills filling the air with it’s pungent bitter-sweet fragrance flooding you with memories and making your eyes water.
Unfortunately it’s all to easy to drown in it. To let grief open it’s giant maw and swallow you whole but you don’t for whatever reason, you don’t. You go on.
You go on because of the people in your life, you go on because the potential that was lost with the death of your loved one needs to be fulfilled in you. You go on because you wake up to find a huge ass streak of what you hope is chocolate cake smudged across your carpet. You go on because to give up is boring. Who knows are truly cares why it is you go on as long as you do to prove to those who aren’t in the throes of grief that it’s possible to survive an experience as life changing as the death of a beloved.
They say grief is different for everyone, that everyone experiences it differently but the underlying common fact is that eventually we’ll all experience it and when YOU do maybe you’ll think of what I wrote and maybe it will help you soldier on. Or maybe you’ll laugh at the fact that I have to play “Is it poop or is it chocolate?” nearly every morning of my life. Either way grief is survivable, the poop or chocolate game: not so much.