Cry When You Need To. Life Is Complicated.

Two things, cry when you need to, and life is complicated.

I've been pondering at how easily I weep. Granted, I've always been a weepy woman, but I've moved into the skill level extreme. Most of you won't see it, but some of you have had the experience of seeing the well spring unload. As I've said mostly I weep in the privacy of the truck. That's okay, my truck is where I am usually in between. In between is okay. In between is temporary. In between can be safe. In between just is.

I know the first year after Gordon's death I was mostly numb. Numbness happens when a loss is too shocking to absorb. His choice is still impossible to fathom. Not to say I didn't cry when I was numb. I think I cried but didn't feel. Now I feel and cry. Yesterday I cried while watching a young Mom comfort her infant. I cried because I miss the days when life was so simple, so uncomplicated. Of course, her life may not have a simple thing in it, I don't know. But I remember when life was just easy, or at least I believed so. I trusted it to just be good. It's hard to trust when you know life can be tragic and complicated. And, it's important to trust when you know life can be tragic and complicated. Like I said...it's complicated.

The other night with friends I felt completely okay just as I was, and then within minutes felt completely lacking just as I was. Such a fine line of personal comfort. I emotionally checked out of the conversations and felt like an outsider. And, that is my baggage to carry, to sort out, to process. So here I am processing away. 

This is what I've discovered. I don't fit into the places I fit before. Extreme losses will do that to you. That alone is worth weeping over. The nature of my loss sometimes makes people uncomfortable with me, and makes me uncomfortable with them. It sometimes even makes me uncomfortable with me. Not a path I chose, but one I must find a way to navigate. It's a painful thing this not fitting in. It's painful how slowly that realization comes to you. With the pain eventually comes grace and growth, but ever so slowly. I struggle with the slowly part. I'd like that growth now please (if not sooner), with a side of fries and a milk shake. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

So this is where I find myself as a survivor of suicide loss. Keeping the faith and trusting in the process even when it's uncomfortable. Sorting out what works and doesn't work like it used to. Crying when I need to. This is growth, this is grace, this is progress.  And there you have it.

Riding The Waves

I am not sure I will ever understand the grief process. Why some days are so very much harder than others. Why some days tears flow at the drop of a hat. Why some things just trigger you.  

There are days, days like Friday for example, that hit you like a ton of bricks. Fridays when you get off work, and the anticipation of the weekend meets with reality. Fridays aren't Fridays like they used to be anymore. There is a gift in these waves of tears. You just have to sort through them and extract the grace.  But to sort through them you have to experience them. To experience them you have to feel them. To feel them is to cry the tears, feel the hurt, the loss, the regret, the loneliness. To own exactly where you are in life. Owning it is truly the first step.

I'd like to think it gets easier, and while the frequency of the waves lessen, the intensity often doesn't. It's a wrestling match of how we expected life to go versus how life actually went. Acceptance is rugged, acceptance is grueling. Parts of life are so hard, and hard is the understatement of the century.

So here is where my instinct is to spin the positive. Partly because I want to skip past the hard parts to look for the good in all of this. It's there, I know it. I'd rather cut to the chase. But for this moment I let the tears leak out. I roll with the waves and trust they will deposit me in a softer place. A place that offers a gentle hand and a profound love. I don't have to know why things are being triggered. I don't have to understand the correlation. I just have to go through it to get to the other side. It takes faith to move through the pain. It takes trust in the process which is somewhat erratic and definitely relentless. The process takes me whether I want it to or not. I can fight it or I can lean in towards accepting it. Leaning in takes less energy, but definitely more faith.

This is grief, this is growth. This is my reality, tears and all.

Even When

Many years ago I began a list of graces/blessings. I try to write some down every day. Some days I'll write several. The goal being to reach 1000 graces, originally without any duplication's.  I owe this lovely idea to friend of mine from town. The first time I met her I had a complete melt down in her store. Bless her heart for passing out Kleenex, encouragement and the challenge to count 1000 graces.

Truth be told I had a list of several hundred graces going when mental illness took Gordon. When he went, he took my list out with him. His despair was overwhelming. As where his very actions.

I've learned a lot since then. I am still on that path of learning. I've learned that counting blessings is critical to my life. Duplicates absolutely count. Some blessings just have to be counted more than once. Even if I can't remember counting something, it's okay. Forgiveness, forgetfulness and acceptance of our frailty counts double. 

Even when I struggle for patience, understanding and comfort in where I am today there are blessings. I wrestle with being comfortably alone, when I am alone. And, I struggle with being comfortable in a group when I'm in a group.  I am anxious being the single in a group of couples. I'm not quite sure where I fit anywhere at anytime.  It's hard to process the pain, and release it into healing. It's a rugged journey, one I never asked for. 

Even when the feeling of being lost and alone is strong, I can find the grace within. I can't count the number of times I've given thanks for the tears. I will continue to do so over and over. The times I separate things down to the smallest gift of grace are so worth noting. This list is proof that there is always something to be grateful for. Even if I am not where I want to be in life. Even when grief weighs heavy. Even when I look back at what was lost, and look ahead wondering how to find peace in it. Even then I have more blessings/graces than I can shake a stick at. 

So I count these gifts in my head, but also on paper. It's like a freeze frame of precious gifts. All worth counting, all worth experiencing. Duplication's acceptable. Losing my first list did not destroy those blessings, they exist, and they continue to be counted day in and day out.