Growing Around Grief

I woke up this morning with the intention of writing. 

I had a cup of coffee, watched some crappy reality TV, and decided to start cleaning.

But, as is what happens to everyone, cleaning and tidying means coming upon things and getting distracted by reading and remembering.

The below is not in any way, shape, or form what I had intended to write.

***

I have this closet in my apartment.

If it was tidy, you could step in and take things from shelves and store everything very easily.

Unfortunately, it is not tidy.

It is rammed full of old clothes I can't bear to get rid of, boxes I keep in case I need to move again (I grew up with hoarders so I was always going to end up like this), my ex's box of porn (I've offered it back to him numerous times because... eh, I'm fine thanks. Not entirely sure why I am still allowing this to take up space in my home...), and a massive suitcase full of "treasures" from my life.

I took a notion to begin the deep-clean by venturing into this closet.

First mistake.

This is essentially a room of distraction and I fell at the first hurdle.

My dad's camera.

***

My dad passed away on the 12th of January 2018, 5 years ago, but I think based on the nature of our relationship and how often I used to get to see him (twice a year because of circumstances), it feels so mush more recent (Why am I justifying my feelings yet again!? That's essentially my therapist's voice in my head there).

It still feels like a missed phone-call. That's the best way I can describe it. So it's like a constant new realisation when I pick up something that makes me think of him or something happens that I really need to tell him... I find myself right back in that January, boarding the plane to see him laying in coffin and bringing home an urn to bury.

Fun.

I've grieved before. Too many times. Family whose time it was to go but I didn't want them to. Friends who unalived themselves because life and the world can be too cruel. Friends who in a simple twist of fate died doing what they loved.

You can never prepare yourself for permanent goodbyes. Try grieving for someone living with Dementia or Alzheimers. They're still alive but gone. 

It doesn't work. It just takes longer. With the same inevitable end.

I digress.

Most of the time, I'm ok. I can remember and smile and think only of the good times.

Then there are those days where it feels like my heart is trying to strangle itself.

Seeing your father's will for the first time, arriving announced into your email, while sitting on a bus to work; there is no way to prepare for that. Even if it happens 4 years after he's gone.

Anyway, I shouldn't have said "grieved"; past tense. It's never past. Once faced with grief, you're always grieving. It just becomes easier to cope with.

I worry I talk about my dad too much. Do I talk him more now that he's gone? Am I making people feel uncomfortable by bringing him up? Am I being dramatic? Am I obsessed with death? Do I let this define me?

Lack of self-worth, a large helping of depression and a dollop of anxiety has made this all the more difficult to make peace with and understand.

I did find a great infographic that has helped though.

I am not weird because I grieve and fall headfirst into the awful process from time to time.

Contrary to what so many people say or believe, the grief doesn't get smaller. It stays the same. 

This horrible solid ball of loss that hardens and softens all at once.

That rattles around with you, hitting you when you're not ready to catch it.

That makes you want to talk about it and not talk about it.

That makes you feel like you're broken because you're still in it.

You will learn to adapt to a life without them and that doesn't mean it won't hurt anymore. The only reason it doesn't consume you is because you grow.

And I didn't realise this for a very long time.

I felt guilty for grieving and I felt guilty for living (that could just be because of my own mental health battles but to me, guilt and grief nearly always go hand in hand).

The moments where you break happen less often and then you've got to come to terms that you are doing what they would want. Growing, coping, living.

I still think back on my first loss and I break. I was 17 and he helped shape who I am today. I can still hear his voice and mostly, this makes me smile. But come his birthday or when I wake up randomly at 2am after a bad dream, I find myself back home, sitting on that old broken trailer, being told he was gone... And as I write that, I realise that next March will make it 20 years since we said goodbye.

Twenty years and I still cry over him.

***

My dad's camera caught me off guard today. I'd looked through the photos a couple months after he passed. Not really taking much in because that was a time where I could barely remember my own name and my Grandpa passed away just after him so everything that I knew was safe and certain was gone. Tailspin doesn't even begin to cover it.

I sat down to take the photos off the camera, save them, and share them with his loved ones who were in them. His partner, my brothers, his best friend.

I was completely unprepared for how I would feel going through them... Especially after a Christmas alone (by choice! Ish).

It was like an assault on my memory.

And how does one even cope with seeing a photo of their father leaning on what would become his grave!?!

Answer: You don't. You let the tears flow. You lean into it any way you can. And eventually you'll become too dehydrated to cry any more.

I've stopped crying enough to take a step back, and think, and write. I'll run a hot bath (but have to remember to keep my right arm out of it because new tattoos and baths don't go well together) and have a glass of wine.

***

I'm writing this mostly to exorcise my own demons, I guess. I never know what my intentions really are when I post on here. I think maybe I'm a little more honest and little less bleak than when I attempt to journal. My diaries became a whole lot less funny after the age of 18.

I don't know how to even end this splurge of thoughts and feeeeeeeeeeeelings so I'm not even going to try. 

Let this hang there, just like grief.

Reading this post most likely did not make you feel amazing but maybe if you're in the midst of a moment where grief has caught up on you, you won't feel so alone or like what you're going through is wrong.

You aren't.

It isn't.

You're just here.

***

I'll clean my apartment tomorrow.