Blurry, sad grief.
Blurry, sad grief.
This journal entry was originally written on 6/24/21. I’m keeping it here, as a part of history, hopefully to help you wherever you are. Thanks for reading.
It’s been unbearably long. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, but it is. You missed Christmas, you missed your birthday, you missed your brother’s graduation. I closed my shop too. We never really talked about my work - so I’m not sure it even would have come up.
Christmas was the worst. It didn’t feel like a holiday. You weren’t there to give out prank gifts. Your laughter after an uncle opened a prank and realized it wasn’t real was the best part of the day and I didn’t even realize that until it didn’t happen.
You weren’t there to rip a tiny piece of wrapping paper off a present under the tree and tell me what I got - even though I pleaded to let me be surprised.
It’s not your fault - I don’t want to make you sad - but I believe we all wept on Christmas. It wasn’t a holiday at all. I didn’t see all the tears. But I know it happened. Quietly alone in our respective rooms, whether that was the morning when we woke up and realized we wouldn’t see you for lunch like every year prior. Or at night, when we realized the day went by and you weren’t there still. I think maybe the worst part is just the horrible silent absence. It’s so loud.
Your car wasn’t in the driveway. Your chair was empty at the table. There weren’t any gifts with your name on them.
I’m not ready to talk about your birthday yet. It was so soon after you left. The family released balloons. I drowned myself in work that made the anxiety even worse because anxiety felt better than grief. I cried in the living room of our park street house at midnight so Connor could finally get some sleep.
I wish you got to know him better, or I guess just longer. I wish you got to do everything for longer. We saw you always at holidays, but we just got a new apartment and I would have liked to have you over for a game night. He’s real competitive like you always were.
You missed your brother’s graduation. It was really difficult for everyone not to feel your absence. I think we tried our best to celebrate - but your absence, again, is so loud. Because I remember your graduation. We are all there. We got you a card. We ate at a restaurant together. You were there.
This time, masks on when inside, we gathered on the back porch and ate there. Connor and I brought the dog, and that helped. Dogs have a way of helping sad people a little bit. We played frisbee. We gave him gifts. I’m so proud of him. I hated you weren’t there too.
Cody passed yesterday. The dog I’ve had since I was nine. (You would have been 8.) And you missed that too. I’m sad, and I wish we could talk about our memories with him together. We used to put him in all our videos. He was Aslan when we reenacted Narnia via Flip camcorder in the dining room.
At your funeral, someone said to me that everything happens for a reason. I thought that was the dumbest thing ever. I know there’s no good reason you’re not here. It’s absolutely unreasonable to watch the people who love you most try to get up every day and feel just alright. So much has happened in 5 months, but the weight of your absence is something I carry every day.
Sometimes when I’m driving. Sometimes when I see the sun coming through the curtains in the morning. Sometimes a line in a movie. Or the sound of pool balls clanking.