Carrying It
I am at work, the new lamps giving off a beautiful, muted glow. Mood lighting at work.
The rain outside my window, the birds singing to each other and the creak of footsteps in this 150 year old building. A hot cup of coffee to my left and photos of family directly ahead. I am rested today, having finally drifted off to sleep before midnight. Dreams left me in peace last night, a visit and a conversation with Patrick. I don't remember a thing beyond the fact that we were sitting together and laughing.
I know its been nearly eight months and I'm sure that the passing of time has done its part in healing. I've come to see grief as a weight you carry, a black sack tossed onto your back. It presses and squeezes the breath out of your lungs and you struggle to take one step at a time. The enormity of the task, of putting one foot in front of the other blocks out all other parts of your life. Tunnel visioned with the impossibility that it is yours to begin with.
What time does is give us the opportunity to reach in and pull out in tiny handfuls pieces of that sadness. Stuffing it in places and finding space for each small and seemingly benign ounce of horror, shock and tears. We find ourselves reaching in taking out on some days and on others, putting shovel fulls back in. Hefting that bag onto our backs and trying to set out and live our lives.
Amazingly, the day came a week ago where I felt like I could put the whole thing down and leave it behind. Surely its there, and I can pick it up and carry it around whenever when I want. But the feeling of walking and breathing without it was exhilarating. I have come to realize that you don't ever move on. You move forward. You press on and you carry the weightlessness of memories and happy times. You can carry these around with you and when the need strikes, pick up that bag of grief and crawl inside for a while. The key is crawling back out.
Gosh I love the sound of this rain.
The rain outside my window, the birds singing to each other and the creak of footsteps in this 150 year old building. A hot cup of coffee to my left and photos of family directly ahead. I am rested today, having finally drifted off to sleep before midnight. Dreams left me in peace last night, a visit and a conversation with Patrick. I don't remember a thing beyond the fact that we were sitting together and laughing.
I know its been nearly eight months and I'm sure that the passing of time has done its part in healing. I've come to see grief as a weight you carry, a black sack tossed onto your back. It presses and squeezes the breath out of your lungs and you struggle to take one step at a time. The enormity of the task, of putting one foot in front of the other blocks out all other parts of your life. Tunnel visioned with the impossibility that it is yours to begin with.
What time does is give us the opportunity to reach in and pull out in tiny handfuls pieces of that sadness. Stuffing it in places and finding space for each small and seemingly benign ounce of horror, shock and tears. We find ourselves reaching in taking out on some days and on others, putting shovel fulls back in. Hefting that bag onto our backs and trying to set out and live our lives.
Amazingly, the day came a week ago where I felt like I could put the whole thing down and leave it behind. Surely its there, and I can pick it up and carry it around whenever when I want. But the feeling of walking and breathing without it was exhilarating. I have come to realize that you don't ever move on. You move forward. You press on and you carry the weightlessness of memories and happy times. You can carry these around with you and when the need strikes, pick up that bag of grief and crawl inside for a while. The key is crawling back out.
Gosh I love the sound of this rain.
YOU'RE VERY FORTUNATE TO DREAM AND TALK TO HIM!!! GOD GAVE THAT ABILITY TO YOU..BUT WE ARE ALL THANKFUL FOR ALL THE GREAT MEMORIES..AND THEY ARE MANY...WHAT A GUY!!!!! MISS HIM TERRIBLY!!!
ReplyDeleteI miss him so much. The dreams are a gift and I'm so thankful for them. Every glimpse, every smile I see in them is a visit and a message inside. But sometimes... I feel scared that I'm not getting it right or that its hurtful to the people I pass it onto. I'm sort of winging it and hoping for the best.
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