Seasons of grief

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I laid in bed the other night, eyes brimming with tears, threatening to overtake me at just the thought of Jeremy's smile or to hear him laugh just one more time. Ultimately, I couldn't shake it and balled at the overflowing grief that seemed so prevalent.

It's weird that lately, my ache for his personality and presence is so strong. The way he got excited about things, his voice when he was happy, the way he brought life to a room....I miss that. More than I think I ever have before.

It struck me the same evening that my grief goes through different seasons. In February and March, while my children were celebrating birthdays, I was really grieving the loss of their daddy in our lives. It was hurting me that Jeremy was missing them reaching new milestones and getting older and bigger, and he wasn't seeing any of it. I couldn't seem to turn a corner without feeling a stab of bitterness that he wasn't here for our kids.

Now that I think back, I can remember going through different seasons of grief. Not just the stages of grief like anger, denial, or depression....but grieving different specific pieces about the man that I loved. I went through a long phase of grieving not being able to experience Heaven with Jeremy, or constantly wondering what it will be like and yearning for the experience. Anything that was different than life without him. I went through a phase of really missing his knowledge of being able to fix anything, answering the questions I couldn't, and figuring out every electronic in our home. I remember for weeks in a row focusing on the absence of his physical presence - the feeling of holding his hand, the physical space he took up in the bed next to me and how empty it felt without him there, the comfort of his embrace. Then, it was smells - I missed his cologne, and the smell of his deodorant could have sent me on a downward spiral of tears....I even missed the smelly work clothes wreaking of cut grass, sweat, dirt, and body odor!

Has anyone else experienced these different seasons of specific pieces of grief? I call them seasons because they inevitably come back around. I will eventually grieve those pieces again in different situations along the way. And I also wonder what other pieces of him I haven't fully grieved yet.

Ultimately, it's all pieces of the same whole. All the parts that made up the man that I fell in love with. I grieve him completely, and apparently separately for all the different voids he left in my life. Different views of the same heart. Seasons taking affect on the same tree. But, oh, that tree sure was beautiful. I will miss it in every season.

Brace yourself.

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I always find a way to prepare myself for grief when I know it's coming. Holidays, birthdays, significant milestones or memories...like I can brace myself knowing that grief will feel heavier during those times. And sometimes the brace is what makes it a little more bearable.

But it's when grief hits me outta nowhere that I find myself whirling without a clue. Tonight as I sit in the pews at church, it occurred to me that the last full day of Jeremy's life I spent in that auditorium with him. This was not a new thought, but I hadn't thought it in awhile and it suddenly felt new. Fresh. Raw. The last evening I shared with my husband was in that room. It instantly made it harder to breathe. And how could I forget that I was also 6 months pregnant....

was that really me?

did this happen to someone else?

Sometimes in those moments, it feels like a lifetime ago....maybe even someone else's lifetime ago. Not mine. Surely I can't be still standing here after having gone through all that. It's almost like I imagined it all.

Then I look down and see my 5 year old who looks exactly like his daddy with his hand in mine, and peaking out from behind is my tattoo that is a constant reminder that this IS real. I didn't imagine it. And sometimes I can pretend long enough to feel normal again, but then I remember where I've come from.

And those out of nowhere grief are the hardest to swallow. I have no time to brace myself. No time to put on my brave face or choke down the tears. I've got a good game face, but not good enough to catch every unforeseen grief moment that crosses my path. And that's ok. I can still smile knowing that I am living out my life soaking up the moments I have left and trying to make Jer proud. And those moments I can't brace myself for remind me that I am human. That I loved and felt loved. And it reminds me that the love and loss I experienced was worthy of a deep and heavy grief.

It's ok if you can't always brace yourself for grief. Sometimes the best thing you can do is allow yourself those moments, experience them to fullest and give them due time. It's at the end of the moments you realize you're still standing.

The pieces in between

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There are those moments that repeatedly roll around in my head. They're the staples I held onto the moment Jeremy died, the ones that epitomize our relationship and bring me peace about the last few days of his life....the sweet exchanged I shared with him in the car, not knowing it would be my last, holding hands with him the night before, going out to dinner as a family just days before he died. These are the pieces I remember vividly because I've held them so tight.

I think after someone dies, your brain automatically scrambles to try and hold onto every important piece you can retain from the last minutes/hours/days/weeks of their life. We grasp onto these pieces to remind us of life, to make sense of the chaos and to store them in our hearts. These are the pieces that, whenever I think about the last days of Jeremy's life, I think about most.

But then there are the pieces in between. The pieces of simple, every day things that we may have forgotten about until something comes up to remind us. A random conversation I forgot we had, a silly joke he told to the kids I couldn't remember, or a song that sparks a memory. These aren't the moments I think about most regularly, but when they come up, they bring another piece of him together.

These little moments, these in between pieces, have come up here and there for the last two years, and I know they probably will continue to for the rest of my life. And even though they aren't the staples I run back to or the moments I hold on tightest to, they're just as important. I'm always grateful when these little pieces come back to me.

I can't remember if I remember

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I had a horrifying experience this week:

I couldn't remember.

It started with a drive to meet my sister-in-law in Canada. The drive was a familiar one that I've taken with Jer hundreds of times through the years. Suddenly and unexpectedly, but like a familiar wave of grief, I was struck with tears realizing I would never take the drive again with him. Then I started to try and remember all the different drives I had taken with Jeremy over the years on that road. I remembered very little, which bothered me, but that wasn't the problem.

I then started trying to think about what it felt like to hold Jeremy's hand in the car like I had so many times before. But instead, all I could remember for that little while was holding my brother's hand in the hospital as he slipped away from us, and the second I noticed a change in his hands and knew that he was gone. And like the wave, I was covered in tears. Tears for my brother, who I've been missing so much the last few days (well, ever since I saw my nephew last weekend and his resemblence to my brother was so eery and heartbreaking for me) and tears for the fact that I couldn't get myself to remember was it was like to hold my husband's hand.

I started to go back to all those familiar moments that I think about often. Like the night before he died - him holding my hand on the way home, telling me how much he loved to hear me sing....I tried to remember past what I normally thought about, maybe some other details I missed before and I couldn't. Then I started to doubt the memory. It feels so distant - did that really happen? Do I actually remember it or is it just because I thought about it so many millions of times that it has become a habit instead of a memory? It was truly horrifying to feel like my memories were slipping further away from me just like Jeremy was.

Luckily, it was fleeting. Sometimes, all it takes is a picture of his jaw line or crooked smile to bring all those things back. Or a random hot day where the smell of sweat suddenly made me miss his salty kisses in the middle of the afternoon on a lunch break. Or sitting with Steve, playing with his ears, and remembering how different it felt to play with Jeremy's. I remember with such detail praying every day that I never forget.

What hurts the most

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The lyrics to the Rascal Flatts song were bouncing around in my head as I sat down to type out this post....

This past weekend, I spent some time in Canada visiting with Jeremy's family. I always look forward to spending my time with them, not only because I love them so much and they don't even know how incredible they are, but also because they keep me close to Jeremy. What I didn't expect was how emotional the trip would be for me. 

I grieved a lot this trip. Steve came with me and we were able to talk about wedding stuff and they allowed me time for my heart to be happy and share good news, but I still ached and I know they did too. It's hard to move forward without feeling like I'm letting pieces of my past go. I want to take it all with me.

I took Steve to Jer's grandparents house. He hadn't been there yet, so we went over for dinner. And suddenly, the hole felt bigger and the knot in my throat grew tighter - the entire time we were there. We had a lovely visit, but I walked around the house looking at all the pictures of Jeremy, wondering why this wave of grief was following me around. Then, we sat down to dinner and ate Jer's favorite dinner EVER (grandma's lasagna) and talked about all of the things he loved to eat at their house and I heard the heartbreak in grandma's voice as she told me she couldn't keep chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar anymore, and I suddenly knew. I felt closest to Jeremy there at his grandparents house - it was one of his favorite places to be. We spent a week there every Christmas, we traveled there many times throughout the year, I had listened to countless recalled memories from Jer about growing up there, and I knew that such a big piece of his life and his heart were there. I hadn't spent a whole lot of time there since he died, so I guess I had never taken it all in. Even through their joy for Steve and me, I felt their heartache for their oldest grandson. My heart was so heavy for them. And I felt myself lose Jeremy all over again. I lost my future of making more memories with him in that house.

What hurt the most....was being so close...

So close to Jeremy I could almost see him. Standing in the door frame, sitting on the floor wrestling with the kids, sitting at the table licking the blueberry pie plate clean. I can feel him there in his pictures, like they were just taken yesterday. I heard him laughing, felt him breathing there. 

I realized that the places I feel Jeremy closest are also the places I grieve hardest. I felt similar when I took Steve to Jeremy's grave for the first time the following day. Knowing he's there is so overwhelming for me to face sometimes. Feeling close to Jeremy means so much to me, but it lingers for days and sits in my heart.

I know that so much of my day to day looks different than it did before Jeremy died. In a new house, driving a new car - they're not places that Jeremy touched or made a mark in so they don't have that affect on me. But when I go back to those places where I feel him most, something comes over me. 

I was thankful for the sweet man by my side who held my hand while I cried out and grieved the other man that I love. His tender heart held mine as he thanked me for sharing pieces of Jeremy with him, and understood that no matter how much I love him or am thankful for his presence in my life, sometimes.....this grief thing just really hurts.