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Oh the ups and downs of grief. The feelings are so unpredictable.
Yesterday was good although anxious as I pepped myself up to attend my first GriefShare event (read previous post for more on that). Today, I felt super low - maybe it was because I was still processing the class or trying to figure out my sleep patterns using some recommended medicine - I'm still behind on good sleep. I do know, I didn’t help when I overheard a conversation about someone else who died maybe even today - a friend of a coworker. It was weird to hear the words, “He was such a nice guy . . . and I'm so sorry...“ I hit a low point driving home again wishing I could call Josh and tell him all about my day. I needed hug from him today for sure - and that’s a lot to say for a non-hugger. Today, would have been a great day for us to have lunch - I miss our random lunch dates and coffee adventures so much. At one point today some coworkers and I ended up talking about the meaning of the word “Hollar” - a southern words meaning a dip between hills that is smaller than a valley. Because of this most recent conversation, it’s on my mind and today would be a day that I feel like I am definitely in one. Perhaps, I am even in the hollar of a valley. Like, I'm already in a valley in this season of grief but then somedays I slip a bit more down, somedays more up. As I keep writing, this analogy seems to kept getting out of hand but either way, today was rough. It was one that just seems a little more sad, almost heavy. I felt heavy with grief all day and even now. I haven’t been able to find a pattern to the emotions, they truly are grief bursts, which is frustrating too, there’s still not an easy solution. There are distractions for sure but not quick fixes. I continue to hope, pray and trust that God is using all of this for good. My vision for the good is still a bit murky but I’m trying and trusting words like this: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. – Isaiah 55:8-9 (NIV)
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 Tonight I embraced a new venture - a GriefShare class. This was a special one time meeting called "Surviving the Holidays," giving tips and encouragement for the first season (or even more) after a loved one passed away. The whole way there I felt tense and panicky. Did I want to go to this? No. Should I? Probably. So I did. I expect many other people attending felt the same. I was actually surprised but there were at least 40 people there for this special session. The information was good and helpful, offering some practical tips and ideas for the holiday season. Encouragement to have a plan and an exit strategy if you find yourself in hitting a wall or "grief burst." I was also reminded that it's okay if you (or rather I) don't feel like putting up a tree or celebrating or doing all the same things - it's a different year. It's okay to do something different. Following the video session, we broke into smaller groups to share a bit which as interesting. The group was good. - Honestly though, one of the harder parts for me was going upstairs to the second floor where Josh and I had been several times for meetings and gatherings because of his job – this was another layer of grief in the midst of participating in this event. Before dismissing, all who attended joined back together for a special candle lighting. The GriefShare group leaders each read a small bit about a colored candle and item displayed on a table. I can’t remember all the words I do know the first candle was black representing the depth of our sorrow, there was also a pink one about our love for those who we’ve lost, and a final one labeled Hope representing Christ and our hope for the future. This whole moment had me and others tearing up. It was captivating and beautiful. During the night, I shared a little with some people in group and in casual conversations but was really, really ready to leave - no energy left for lingering conversations. On the way home, I stopped at Walmart and had to really hold my restraint from wanting to just kick overall the holiday popcorn tins that lined the entry way. I was kind of thinking, “I’ll show you how I’m going to survive the holidays!” Kick Kick Kick - at least that’s what was happening in my head. Thinking about Christmas gatherings feels exhausting already. I don’t know what it will be like but do know that it will be different without Josh. It will be hard. It will be sad and tearful at times. There will be good moments and laughter still but a lot of things that won't happen. We won’t be serving together at church on Christmas Eve, he won’t be fixing a custom fancy meal that he loved doing, watching silly movies with me and so many more things. I'll be repeating some traditions by myself or with friends and also discovering some new ones. For tonight, I took a step and survived the class along with so many others who are bravely walking in their grieve. Whew…..Grief is hard work.  Yes, I'm using this title as an excuse to throw out a Hamilton reference (again) . . . but it is the first thing I realized it has been four whole days since I posted something. This isn't from lack of topics or feelings to write about but rather that my days have been full and by the end of each day my overall energy depleted.
Following my last post, on quite the emotional Thursday, I traveled to Mo. and celebrated my brother-in-law and nephews birthdays, spent Saturday with friends enjoying life, shopping and watching movies; attended church with friends, saw more family finally traveling back home to Arkansas on Sunday. It was a packed not-so-quiet weekend. In fact, the busy weekend generated even more activity for my mind and emotions as I processed the joyful moments yet again mixed with deep sorrow. With so much inside my mind and not much time to rest in it, I feel like I am racing to map out what to post including thoughts on my brother-in-law's birthday, the idea of "would haves" and Sunday's church message on sorrow - but in a different way. (Stay tuned for some make-up posts) Tonight though, was a night I needed. Some great Arkansas girlfriends that God so perfectly put into our lives in the perfect way and season came over to spend time with me on my cozy back porch winter scene (also another post). It was the first time that I had people over to hangout with since I've returned and since Josh passed away. It was casual and fun. The night was filled with cozy blankets, laughter and honest conversations. Even now, hours later I can take a deep breath and say, "That was good." One of the really tough parts about my home right now especially, is there are so many memories of Josh and I together here. It's not all the good memories that make it hard, but also memories of his decline in health that I witnessed during the past few months and even saying our last goodbye here. Often, I look around the room and feel sad while fighting the desire to be anywhere but here. Tonight, a bit of life and joy entered back into this space, our space. I know bit by bit this will continue to happen but it's a slow moving process. This doesn't erase the memories or change my current reality but it does help. I'm in a new period of finding my own way and focusing back on my life, health and more. It feels selfish almost but I do know that self care is important too. I opened a fortune cookie last week that said, "Self-care is not self-ish." That reminder is now on display on my work desk. I need the reminder often. For many of us, grieving might feel selfish but I think this thought is another trick of the devil who wants us to bury the hurt and skip over the healing process that God has for us. So tonight, I rest in the quiet and lean into not so comfy feelings and breath deeply.  Photo from Rocky Mountain NP on the edge of Many Parks Curve. I could blame today’s emotions on the changing weather, not enough sleep, a bit of work drama but ultimately at root it is just grief.
I recently read a list of “symptoms of grief” when I was just researching the topic (for fun?) - what I realized in the process is that I am actually experiencing all of the symptoms. There is no doubt I am in it, in the thick of it. At the month and a half mark since Josh passed away, and over seven months into this season of great change and hard stuff, I am still a mess often. Not wanting to wallow in but also wanting to face it honestly while still trying to sense of it. I fight to try to understand it somehow yet I might not ever. This is part of our natural human instinct to try to solve a problem and survive. This effort carries over to my faith journey too. Part of faith is continuing to run the race, as referenced in Hebrews 12:1, but as I told a few people this week, it’s hard to really run the race if you have a broken leg or rather had a recent heart surgery. My wound is not visible which makes it all the more complex but does make it hard to really rush full-speed ahead. Only a few hours into my random Thursday and it’s been a doozy. I am moving forward like a sloth while clinging to God’s truth - this time a verse found in Nahum 1:7. The Lord is good, A stronghold in the day of trouble, And He knows those who take refuge in Him. ___________________ Reference: The Five Stages of Grief This is an interesting article and as always all the aspects of grief and how people walk through are super complex and debatable. Today was World Kindness Day and also Cardigan Day - in honor of Mr. Rogers who showed kindness to the world. With this, I thought, "I know someone who loved cardigans! – Josh!!" So, I carefully organized a nice outfit and topped it with one of Josh's well-worn blue cardis.
I decided to embrace the day by going our favorite coffee shop, getting myself a mocha then paying for few extra cups for others who might stop by the place next. This random act of kindness - which I now feel like I am bragging about (seriously not trying to but rather reporting on the day - helped me walk back into our favorite shop for the second time since Josh passed away. Going through the drive thru is much easier still. The rest of the day was busy with work events and conversations but intermittently, all day, tears rushed forward. Even as I got ready this morning they hit. For the record, it's really hard to get ready for work when you are crying. Trying to mask the heartache even when trying to offer up kindness for others also doesn't work. It's like instead of random acts of kindness hitting there are random acts of crying (oh boy!). Jarringly, the fact still hits me often that Josh isn't here. I know it but am still accepting it. Today I can easily say that grief is neither kind nor easy. Often I feel like I've been beaten up by this event and this season of grieving on. I know there is hope and acceptance in the process somewhere but I also know that I am long way from those feelings. For now, I attempt to rest in God's lovingkindness - this rich Old Testament word at times means "loyal steadfast love." There is comfort in this kind of love - even as my heart aches for the person I have loved for so long, I know God's love is even richer. Thankfully, God's love remains loyal and steadfast even as I yo-yo and question my way through this season. "O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; For His lovingkindness is everlasting. - Chronicles 16:34  Today, I received a letter from Josh’s doctor that very officially stated the time period that he was under hospice care. It is isn’t one I wanted to get but rather one I needed for our insurance company. It’s one of the many strange things to deal with after a loss and almost awkward feeling to read. Generally, there are many ways to talk about what happened with Josh at the end of September. I’ve both said and seen these descriptors: passed away, died, left this world, is in heaven, etc . . . Some phrases are easier (or softer) to say than others - at least less jarring. This time the letter very factually stated Josh “expired at home.” When I read the words, I immediately thought about a gallon of milk, then felt a rush of emotions. Josh is more than a gallon of old milk. What a strange word to use and even more strange to read/process. Filing paperwork is just one of the many weird things to do in this process. The paperwork about our lives and the life of a loved one seems so inadequate - instead Josh’s life deserves books, movies, more epic stories and social posts - yet these are also sometimes hard to express. Thinking more on this word “expired,” I connect it to Josh’s life. He would never drink expired milk – for good reason. I would sometimes smell or taste it but for Josh, if the date on the bottle was over (or even close) he wouldn’t risk it. This always made me laugh. I would sometimes try to trick him into at least trying it from a cup but he held strong. Remembering THESE stories helps fill my aching heart. These memories remind me that there’s more to a life than paperwork that needs to be filed and still more to this story and moment. I know this technically, we all know this, but somedays basic tasks just have to be completed as part of the ongoing process of grieving on. It all makes me think of Snoopy the dog making the “bleh” face - maybe the same face you’d make when sipping on spoiled milk. This is how I feel about grief. "Bleahhhhh." |
Author: JennHi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer. Archives
May 2023
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