Not Always Rainbows and Whistles

As much as I wish it were, not everything is rainbows and whistles. Some days are just hard. Some mornings, you wake up and know that particular day will be tougher than your regular daily allowance of TOUGH. Usually, my first instinct is to holler out to the world “I’ll just be in my bed today. Let’s try again tomorrow.” But alas. Frikin’ alas. The world spins on and so must we.

Yesterday turned into a tough day. The morning wasn’t initially tough so tricked me into getting out of bed. (I’ve got my eye on you, Morning.)  But as the day wore on and my coffee wore off, I felt tired in so many ways.

We rocked Thanksgiving. I even wrote a post about how beautiful it was and how proud I was of everyone. But the hard part came in like a tsunami aftershock. My mom wasn’t at Thanksgiving. She was not there, at least not physically, the way I wanted her to be. We were sad. We were nostalgic. We were taunted with little glimpse of what life used to be like and it made me want my old life back all the more. We all are sorely homesick for my mom and the life she took with her. Like a giant wave, attacking right when we think we’re in the clear, broken-heartedness swept up the puddle it was and flooded back with a vengeance.

I think I (and probably many others) survived Thanksgiving on adrenaline. The urgency of feeding many people, making friends comfortable, and wanting the holiday to be a success kept me going and my spirits high. But when everyone leaves, and the leftovers are all packed up, the house gets quiet again. We allow ourselves to slow down and then we realize how much scurrying around we’ve done and what just happened: The First Thanksgiving without mom.

Sometimes these are the times that provide the fertile soil for darkness to grow and light to diminish. I start with “I miss my mom” and then the next thing I know I’m wondering when I should leave my current job, if I even want to go to grad school (never mind finish the prerequisite classes I’m enrolled in) or if it’s foolish to think about starting my own business. I feel like I just need a few days to curl up by the Christmas tree and get cracking on the stack of books I’ve been wanting to read. I need a minute. I want to call my mom and ask her what I should do (and get caught up on the last three and a half months).

Grief is just a bizarre thing. It’s rarely linear, somewhat cyclical and more likely compared to a bowl of spaghetti. Anyone who’s walking through a season of loss may feel 10 (or more!) different ways throughout a day, all jumbled up and squished together. Not everyday is hard but everyday is dimmed a little with loss, and as a community we can remind each other that whistling can be possible.

Sometimes I feel like climbing Mt. Everest in a bathing suit would be easier than finding a little glimmer of hope to cling to. But alas.

Frikin’ alas. That’s not entirely true.

My whistle: My dad knew yesterday was a tough day so texted me this morning. Our charge: “Let’s kick today’s a$$.”




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