I woke up this morning with a heavy heart.
I knew what day it was, I'd been dreading it for a while now. It's been a year since we lost her, and somehow that seems impossible. There are times that so much has happened that it seems like it's been forever since I saw her last, and other times I swear that I can see her out of the corner of my eye in the places and times where she should still be. The hair, the laugh, unmistakably her.
Then I remember the wise words of a friend, spoken to me earlier this year on the first anniversary of my father's death.
You will never ever have to be here, right here, again.
Grief is a process, and though it's not in any way, shape or form a linear one, it is one that eases with time.
That friend of mine, in the same place I am today, is right.
We have to get through today, and then we never have to do it again.
My tribute to her, this afternoon. A project I'm doing with my girl scouts. I'm having them paint a frame, then taking a picture for them to put in there. A memory of this time together, not unlike the one that still hangs beside my oldest daughter's bed. I hope we make her proud.
This picture always makes me smile. I miss her.
In that place I'm already in today, the first thing I read this morning was a post by a blogger I follow. Strike that. A writer I follow. She mused about how maybe she dwells too much, how she lingers in the bad places too long. I have been told that I do the same by those who mean well. To her, and to myself, I say this: so what?
I can assure you that whatever I've written here has been yet a fraction of what my heart wants to say, and that I've toned it down for the masses. The truth is that no one really wants to know what it's like to be dragged through hell. No one really wants to know how much loss hurts, and how grief can sneak up behind you when you least expect it and punch you in the gut. No one really wants to know how deep betrayal can wound you, because they'd prefer to live in the fantasy world where things like that don't happen to real people.
This writer and I, we share a lot in common. Far more than I can say with any degree of certainty given that we've never met. I have a feeling though that she knows exactly what I mean here today.
Life isn't all about rainbows and unicorns. Life isn't only the good. If we write only about the positive, aren't we being a bit disingenuous? I'd argue we are.
I write about what is real. The good, the bad, the ugly. Take it or leave it, this is me.
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