Letter to the Grieving — 78
She’d have been 78 today.
As old as Chevy Chase, Joe Pesci, Mick Jagger, and our current President, Joe Biden.
78 years is nearly 30,000 days. And it’s been 1,602 days since she’s walked this earth.
I don’t really know what else to say, Grieving One, except some days are harder and some are easier, and this day, this year, this moment are tender and achy and just so much harder than the last few.
No one else has mentioned her today. And I really, really don’t want to be the first.
You know that feeling, don’t you? Others around you might be kind enough, safe enough, to tell. But they’re happy, or they’re struggling with something of their own, and the last thing you want to do is feel like a burden. You don’t want your shadow dimming their smile, or weighing them down further.
I can give lots of advice, and multitudes of grace, but this is something I struggle with too much to really help you. I haven’t figured it out myself.
My daughter is home for the night, and she has a concert tomorrow. I am so, so very proud of her. And she is one I thought might remember this day and what it means — but I won’t mention it. Her smile is bright and she is full of joy today as she prepares for the chance to create.
My husband is getting over a head cold/allergic asthma/a sinus infection. And he just had an allergy shot today. He is not feeling good at all but he still helped clean up after dinner and played with the cats. It is enough for me to see that he’s getting through this rough week. I am not adding to it.
My brother is not one to remember dates. He has said many times that he has pretty much healed from losing her. And I can see sympathy in his eyes when he mentions how her loss affected me. He says it hasn’t affected him the same, that he made peace with losing her before she was actually gone. So I will be silent.
My friend, also born on this day, is facing a bright future and a joyful time. I will not darken her birthday, knowing that her own mother’s absence is so deeply felt on this day.
Other friends, who have taught me so much about grief, and strength, and seeing light through the cracks — I tell myself that if the night gets too sad, I will reach out.
I will tell them my heart is hurting tonight. I will tell them I don’t actually know what to do with this tender soreness. I will tell them that maybe I brought it on myself by thinking of her too much? By changing my watch band to Mickey Mouse for the month, in memory… by intentionally finding memories of her and holding her tight in my mind, did I bring on this weird, restless, painful catch in my heart?
Did I somehow cause a Grief Bruise? Is that actually a thing?
I don’t know, Dear One. I really wish I did.
If there is one thing I have learned over the last 228 weeks (and 6 days) since I lost her living presence, it is that grief is always changing. We change with it, and so its presence in our lives is sometimes an inexplicable and curious thing. We live, we love, we adapt — and then suddenly here we are learning all about it once more.
Dear Grieving One — if tonight your heart aches, please know you are not alone. Somewhere, some place, is another person who is grieving too. As Beth Woolsey says, we are “waving in the dark”.
