Sharing Our Grief.

I had recently turned twenty-seven when I lived through what would forever alter my life. 
My Momma, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, having just beat cancer, died from other causes.

She was fifty-five years old. 
What a loss to this universe. 

An emptiness now looms over our family as we continue on without her, one we cannot ignore. 

Grief is such a weird thing. I think it is a lot like love...we can't explain it, but we know it's there.  We can't define it.

It hit me the other day that our dog had been in our sweet son's life longer than my Momma had the chance to be.  That angers me so much. That is not fair, and I'll never be okay with that.  

Our son is eleven years old now, and I love that he remembers bits and pieces of her.  But oh, what spoiled rotten-ness he's missed out on from her!
The other day we sat down for family movie night,  and he was so excited for me to watch a movie that he absolutely loves. He kept telling me how he knew I'd love it. He knew I'd love one of the main characters in it, he just knew it! 
A little bit into the movie, I noticed the girl he was speaking of...she had lost her Momma at a young age.  Halfway through the movie, it hit me...our son is absolutely conscious of the fact that I do not have my Momma in my life anymore.  He is sensitive to it, and he gets it. 

It is a horrible thing to live with, it is something I am all too familiar with.  So often I want to hear her voice, ask her a question about being a Momma, ask her about her history or my history, hang out with her, have her babysit for us, or all the things that would be happening if she were here, etc., etc.

 

It was weird and beautiful to understand that in his little eleven-year-old way, he is aware and sensitive of my reality. Understanding that he understands deeply moved me.
It breaks my heart. 
Yet it strangely warms me to know he was trying to speak to my grief, in a way only he knows how.

As much as I write about living with the absence of my Momma, I don't necessarily talk about it that much here at home. It's a hard thing to do, isn't it?  Speaking about our grief is not easy. To just start talking about this woman, this Mother, this amazing human that I miss so much...It's hard to do without bursting into tears. But that doesn't mean I don't need to do it.  My husband needs me to do that, and our son needs me to do that.  I need me to do that.
It is a disservice to our family if I do not speak candidly about the grief I carry day in and day out.

*It is not lost on me that one day our sweet boy may very well be leaning on my writings to cope with my loss.*

 

May we remember that just as we cannot live this life alone, we cannot grieve alone. May we remember that our grief, as hard as it is to live with and talk about, is not to be ignored.

 

There's not a platitude, or positive thought, or positive verse, that can take the place of the grief you live with...if so, that would make love and grief pretty cheap. And they are not...they are priceless.  May we speak of our grief, may we share our grief with our loved ones.

 

*May we remember that sharing our tears over the grief of losing someone so very dear to us is one of the holiest things we can ever do.*

 

Because life and love and grief affect us all...even an eleven year old little boy.