Pretty Much It

The pain has returned. It was gone for awhile. It allowed me to “move on” with life for a time. In a way. There is so much missing from my life since last summer, before I was called home to be with Dad. By that point, I had finally felt like I had a decent handle on a lot of basics, logistically speaking.

Now, I don’t feel like my life is in shambles. Far from it. I just feel a little…off. Not quite who I was before It All Happened.

I am changed fundamentally.

I feel like I can’t write, because I feel like there is “nothing” to say, or that it won’t matter, because no one wants to hear this crap anyway. It’s depressing and uncomfortable. What comes out when I write likely confuses people who interact with me regularly, too, since I seem to be my normal self most of the time.

I’m not sure how I can do that. Be “normal,” I mean. Other than that I have to be.

Grief is a strange thing.

It really is a spiral, as I’ve been told by one or two who have already been there, and go deeper than what is trite. I keep coming around to the same feelings, but in a different plane. Right now, they’re very much there, but tucked into nooks and crannies of my mind that I can’t quite reach. I can’t put a name on them. I don’t recognize them. I cannot tell if they are friend or foe. Their portraits are fuzzy, and overlap.

I lack the abundant vocabulary I feel I need in order to name this struggle.

And yet…

There is peace somewhere, too. I can’t see it, feel it, touch it, or taste it. Still, it’s here. It’s present within me. I stand on it. Somehow, the steps on this staircase feel sturdy and sure. They are not going to give out from under me. Sometimes, there is no railing on the stairs, but the steps are always sure. I guess that is the best way to describe the Peace That Doesn’t Make Sense.

No, I don’t grieve the way the world does, without hope. Yet, the grief process is the same as anyone’s. At least it is in me. I’m walking down this spiral staircase, one step at a time.

Or is it up?

I don’t know. That part confuses me.

All I know is that I don’t see the end of it.

I don’t know how long it will stay with me. All I know is that there are days when I am truly just fine. There are days when I only say that I am, believe that I am, but am not, and cannot face it. There are days when I know I’m not fine, but don’t want anyone else to know, because they all say the same things. The same well-intentioned, loving things that don’t make any sense.

Sometimes, I don’t want anyone else to know, so that I can be to them what they need. What they have been to me, so that we can walk together somehow, for a little while.

Mostly, grief makes you Alone. Whether you want to be, or not. Whether you are physically alone, or not. It doesn’t matter. There is only so much Together you can be.

And that’s pretty much it.

Grace & Peace,


6 thoughts on “Pretty Much It

  1. Tiff, your experience is uniquely yours. You will move through this thing called grief at your pace and in your way. It is one of those times when no one else can or should “make it better.” It’s ugly. It hurts. It is yours. You may not even be a better person at the end, but there will be an end. Love ya girl.

  2. Your last year and my last year were so different in the losses we experienced, and yet your description of how you are feeling is so similar to my own. You lost your Daddy and I felt like I lost my Self and we are both trying to figure out, quite literally, who we are now. I’m not trying to say that my last year in any way compares with the pain of yours…my pain was mostly self-inflicted, but perhaps the spiral staircase is similar in the end. You are not alone my friend. Whatever will shake, will shake. Even if only ashes are left, He is able to raise beauty from them. This I firmly believe.

    • You hearten me, Jenni.

      I don’t compare our losses, because they were each our own. I don’t think one is harder than another at all. We were each chosen for our particular losses – and hence, I too, can firmly believe that beauty will rise from ashes.

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