Sometimes Grief Screams in Silence

Blogging used to come so naturally to me, but lately, I have been at a loss. It's like I cannot find the right words to say or the courage to put them to paper. In fact, I started this very entry 9 days ago and am just now attempting to finish it. But over the last few weeks, I've realized that my writer's block isn't so much a loss for words, but rather a fear over what others would think of them.

And honestly, how f*%king stupid is that?

I continue to find myself more stressed from just trying to make sure that I don't talk too about mom - and because of that, I've had more anxiety and sleepless these past few months than when I first lost her. 

You see, it's been 518 days since I last held mom's hand. To the non-grieving world, that sounds like a really long time. But to me, February that snowy February day feels like yesterday.

When I find myself lost in the quiet, I can still hear the sound of her agonal breathing. I can vividly picture her, smiling at me from the other end of the couch just two days prior. I can hear her laughing from the kitchen in the very house that she made our home. I can still feel her, which makes it impossible to believe that she is actually gone... that it's been so long since I last held her hand or cried on her shoulder.

So yeah, to me it feels like yesterday. But to those around me, I have been grieving for well over a year - 758,928 minutes, 12,648 hours, 528 days, 75 weeks, or 17 months ago, to be exact. 

One year, 5 months, and 12 days ago my entire world shifted on its axis, and I transformed into this very sad, very lost version of myself. It seems like forever ago, so why does my grief still feel so raw and SO new?

When people ask me how I am, or text me and ask "what's new," my automatic responses are usually something along the lines of "I'm fine" or "hey! nothing at all!" But really, what I want to scream at the top of my lungs is that I feel like I'm dying inside. That when I'm alone in the car or listening to music, or restless and awake at 3 a.m., I get so angry it physically hurts my heart. Or that sometimes, I miss her so damn much that it feels impossible to breathe.

It's hard to tell people the truth and be honest about the pain that can still ruin perfect days and amazing moments and a really good glass of wine. I can't say it out loud because it's been 528 days, and I should be "better" by now. 

One of my friends lost her mom to COVID a few weeks ago. I sent her a message expressing how genuinely sorry I was for her, her family, and all the hard days they were about to endure. Later she responded and asked, "does the pain ever get easier?" I hated that the only thing I could tell her was that it never gets easier; we just eventually learn to hide it better. But the heartbreak, that stays with you forever.

And that's the truth. My heart did not suddenly mend on day 365. The pain isn't any less just because the people around me feel that I have grieved long enough. I can't just numb my heart or shut off my mind – no matter how dark, painful, and lonely of a place it is. I don't remember what life before losing her felt like - how light and happy my soul was, even if I didn't realize it at the time.

I don't know if I will ever be able to go back to the person I was when she was alive. I have drifted so far from the girl I used to be that I barely remember that version of myself anymore. I just feel so lost.

Grief now lives inside me, indefinitely. It is a part of me. It may continue to change shape, continue to break me in new ways and continue to change me in ways that I could never have imagined. But it will never go away.

So I am done with the silence. I am done feeling ashamed for being sad. And I am SO done avoiding bringing her up just because I am afraid everyone else is sick of hearing about her.

I refuse to stop telling stories about her. I will never stop sharing memories. I will never stop talking about how much I miss her or how bad it hurts every time it hits me again that she is gone.

xo