What Grief Looks Like
For me some days it doesn't look like much, I eat, I drink my tea, I talk and laugh, I sleep. I go out to yoga classes with friends/family. I can function. Some days I try to get the house back in order. Then I pick up a stray pink, striped sock from under the couch. Suddenly I can’t move, I can’t breath, and sink down to my knees and I cry so violently it shakes my body. I try to smell her on the sock, I hold it to my heart and scream “COME BACK TO ME!” “I LOVE YOU!” “PLEASE!” . I find myself softly chanting daughter, daughter, daughter over and over and I lose count as I hold that sock and rock it. Minutes pass, I don’t know how many. Then quiet will come back to me. I will finally feel strength to pick myself up off the floor and I put her sock in her bedroom on her bed, I shut the door. I stand there for a moment, my hand still clutching the doorknob as tears stream down my face, as I look around my house. I feel lost in this space, I don’t know what to do next. The future is a language I can’t speak.I think this, still holding onto the doorknob. That even as I let go, I walk to make myself a cup of tea, it is all foreign to me. These movements that my body has memorized they are so strange to me. I can’t speak the future because the pain of right now is too great, but I find myself in the future with each passing moment, not knowing how I got there.
It has been 2 weeks to the day that Scarlett has passed. Sometimes it doesn't feel real and sometimes it feels so real and it all feels so unbearable. Everyday Ben and I are moving forward, but grief is not linear, and it comes and goes in waves. Thank you to everyone who is praying for us, and loving us, and holding space for us while we grieve. Keep reaching out, please, one day we will be strong enough to reach back.