Call it a combo of smoke constantly blocking out the sun, writer’s block, and social media sadness overload (or maybe it should be called Social Media Sickness – SMS)…Whatever it is, here I am, feeling like a bag of shit in the middle of my fave time of year and carrying that heavy cloak of grief on my shoulders again. Of course, it’s all for a really good reason.
Let me explain.
When I say “writer’s block” what I actually mean is this:
Trying to write a book about the death of our daughter (in hopes that I can send it out into the world that other grieving parents may find it, read it, relate to it, and understand that there is light in the darkness and still hope for happiness) is really brutal on the heartstrings.
I’ve spent the last seven weeks reliving every horrific moment of Cora’s life and death and even though I thought the darkest aspects of my grief were gone forever, I’m realizing they are always there, lurking below the layers of seven years of life that have grown over them. I may have buried them, but now I’m the Indiana Jones of Memory, just digging that shit up and bringing it back to the surface to cause chaos and wreak havoc on my heart and my life again.
Suddenly I’m feeling everything deeply, crying all the time, and I have no energy to be social or put myself out there into the world. It’s exactly how it was when Cora first died and I was exhausted, angry at the world, and intolerant of bullshit…Oh! Wait. I’ve always been intolerant of bullshit. Ha!
After I came back from the other side, I truly thought that all my grief was gone. I felt so alive and so full of love and understanding for the world. I felt as though I would never again feel sad or angry or ever let the state of the world drag me down. Of course, anyone who has ever died and come back understands that human emotions and thoughts eventually return and immerse us in the day-to-day ups and downs of life again. We can’t escape our human experience -we are not meant to- but I am still genuinely surprised that I can feel grief this strongly again after seven years.
I saw a post on IG the other day and bells went off in my brain. Life is a spiral where we continually come back to the things we think we’ve conquered and understood so we can see the deeper truths in them. This is how spiritual growth happens. This is how we build up our strength and resilience – often through expanding our willingness to be vulnerable.
So I get it.
I get it that it fucking SUCKS to believe I’ve conquered a massive mountain only to find myself standing at the mid-way point again, staring up into the unknown above me with the weight of grief pressing me down, making it tough to keep climbing. I get that I will probably always be feeling it in one way or another until I, once again, head back to the other side.
I also get that I can’t just quit writing about her because it’s painful. I can’t just give up on this gut-driven, fierce compulsion to share our story in hopes that our pain will resonate with others and help them through their own. I get that it’s worth it and that I wouldn’t be compelled to do it if I weren’t meant to. I am and I will, even if it tears the scars open again.
When this happens to us, we can’t just shut it out. You gotta feel it to heal it, even when it pops up at inconvenient times or in my fave season when I should be full of light and mischief and beer!
So I’m rolling with it -feeling the feels, as they say – and balancing it out with exercise, friends, tears, beers, and belly laughs.
Hopefully, when this book is done and I’ve once again run the gamut of emotion and heartache, I will be able to sit back and feel the love and light of the incredibly positive impact Cora had on me and so many others in her short time with us.