First let me just say, it doesn’t matter how true or accurate, fuck the 5 or 7 or however fucking many “stages” of grief there are. As if such a messy emotion could be boiled down into parts. Fuck that. (but hey if the stages thing works for you in a useful wholesome way, then please stop reading here)
It isn’t stages, or phases, or any of that shit. It simply is and I’ve been using this quote a lot lately (fucking Robert Frost) “The best way out is always through”. Society strives so hard to make everything into convenient packages, numbered lists, etc. The idea that grief is supposed to look a certain way, well that is bullshit.
So if there was any wonder as to how I’m doing, well I’m doing. Past couple weeks have been tear-less surreal for the most part. Then last night, it just seems like everyone is talking about Dads, Death and combinations of both lately. I can’t help the tears, and the buzzing of loss in my head.
I know it’s one of those fucked up things where it probably isn’t happening as often as I think, its just I’m so painfully aware. I am so envious of everyone who can still talk to their Dad get to hear him answer. I mean I’m still talking my Pop but his voice is gone with the rest of him. Along with his laughter, that was contagious, my Dad’s laugh.
Anyway, I live a life full of emotional turmoil, but most of it is not based in anything ‘real’. That is to say my brain is a shit and likes to kick up all the sad making, anger making and generally shitty feeling making chemicals on a pretty regular basis. Just because it feels like it (fuck you brain)
But this, grief, well it’s not like that. It doesn’t feel anything like the usual “my brain is an asshole bio chem dump”. It is far and away so much worse, infinitely more painful. Which in turn kind of makes me mad. I guess that is simply how it works, for me.
That’s the thing all those people touting the stages of grief seem incapable or unwilling to allow and that is that EVERYONE grieves differently. Also they may not grieve the same for every person they lose. Each situation is unique, and it’s own special kind of hell (or challenge, or trial). One step forward, two steps back.
So today I will cry again, and do my best to be present as much as I can, but damn it hurts.
I love you Dad, I hope you know just how much. and fuck
I miss you.