Much like resistance to the cybernetic humanoids of Star Trek fame was futile, resistance to the process of grief is futile.
Trust me, I tried.
I filled my days with blogging book tours, book reviews and author spotlights, and my nights sitting in Den’s recliner staring at the walls.
I’ve always enjoyed cooking, so I’d spend hours browsing the Internet for new recipes to play with, and still spent my nights in Den’s recliner.
I went on a cleaning spree, practically making the place sterile, and it still wasn’t enough. I decided to tackle closets, saving the bedroom closet for last. I spent an entire day in that closet, organizing and packing up Den’s clothes to donate to a homeless shelter, then I spent the entire night putting everything back in the closet, including his clothes.
I was making myself crazy, but it was a secret crazy. No one except me knew the lengths I went to simply for distraction.
My personal dam broke over morning coffee.
I have eleventy-hundred strange, weird, and funny coffee mugs.
Den disliked coffee and had ONE mug for his tea.
Guess which mug I pulled out the cabinet that morning?
I cannot describe the anguish and the pain I felt at that moment.
After what seemed like hours of crying, I had to admit to myself that I couldn’t make myself better.
All the busy activities were futile.
I couldn’t pack the pain away.
I couldn’t choose not to mourn.
Grief would not be ignored.
When I stopped fighting grief, I at last understood that mourning a loss wasn’t a sign of weakness, but a path to healing.
Resistance to it was futile.
On May 30, 2019, I lost Dennis, my husband of over thirty-five years. Ten short weeks later on August 18, 2019, I lost my eighty-four-year-old mother. My grief journey has not been an easy one. While we know grief has five stages, there are many situations and feelings some bereaved never get to express, and I’m using my first AtoZ Challenge to say things I’ve never been able to give voice to. I hope you’ll follow my journey.
Image from Pinterest.CO.UK