I’ve got nothing.
Taylor and I did what felt like a bunch of firsts this weekend. First house in Archie and my collection I bought (because it literally had my name on it, even spelled right) that he hasn’t seen (I cried like a baby), first time to our family’s favorite restaurant, first chocolate chip frappe from McyD’s without Archie (we’d always split one), first time picking out eye glasses without Archie’s input in nearly 28 years, first time using the tandem without Archie (I had never driven it, Taylor had never ridden it–it was a bumpy start), first time on the Pumpkin Vine Trail–the trail we were bound and determined to bike on as a family…but that never happened. First, first, first. I AM SO TIRED OF FIRSTS!!!!
Now I keep hearing the second year is worse than the first. SERIOUSLY?!?!?!? Stick a fork in me cause I’m done.
One of the ladies from Grief share said she is tired of hurting. ME TOO! I wish there was some magic bullet that would take the sting out of all of the sucky firsts. Why, for Pete’s sake, do they all have to hurt so badly individually? Can’t someone figure out how to do a band-aid pull off party where we can pull all of the excruciating “firsts” band-aids off at one time, scream in horror, cry our eyes out for, oh, say, one month straight, and then be able to say this grief thing is over and we are all healed?
As we were riding the trail today I realize: I look forward to nothing. How weird is that? No, I’m not depressed. I exist. Everything I’ve done that I’m supposed to do to “create a new identity,” just…doesn’t do anything for me. It’s either fallen through (like the people haven’t followed through on promises of opportunities) or I have found it doesn’t work into my schedule.
Nothing. I’m not depressed, I am just walking numb, going through the motions. I don’t even know where to go to look for anything to look forward to. Been there. Done that. Tired of being let down. Not mad. Just accepting.
It is seriously hard living in a world where shortly after the funeral, everyone goes back to their regular lives. To we aliens that experience grief, it’s like the world is in slow motion. On bad days, a 24 hour day feels like 48 hours of memories, even 8 months later. A good day is spent feeling guilty but yet relieved that we are having a good day. Grief sucks.
The worst thing is when people don’t know what to do with you. They just pray they don’t run into us (don’t worry, you aren’t the only ones that feel this way). We know this. People have told us this. We don’t get mad because at least they are being honest.
And we still have the microscope lookers that don’t actually speak to us, but think that after 8 months they have us figured out. That’s just so much fun dealing with their misconceptions, we again, feeling like we are letting yet another person or persons down.
Win, win, right?
So all of this to say, I love my heavenly Dad, I trust my heavenly Dad, I just don’t “get” my heavenly Dad. Something has to change and that is…
“My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word” (Psalm 119:28).
See you next Monday, October 31.