Grief

I'm finding the grieving process to be a very strange beast and you never really know when it's going to rear it's ugly head. The times when I'm expecting it to show up, it surprises me.

I waited over a month to go to my Dad's house because I was sure it would be unbearable to walk through the door knowing my Mom wouldn't be there. I even called in reinforcements and asked my sister to meet me there incase I needed her. It was hard, but not nearly as hard as I'd expected. I thought Thanksgiving would be a day filled with tears from beginning to end as it would be the first holiday without her. It had it's moments but none that brought me to the point of no return. We've just come away from Christmas and New Years and you would certainly expect those days to be filled with grief but on the contrary, I found them to be mostly joyful.

It's the moments when you aren't expecting it, the moments when it catches you off guard that are the most difficult. Like when I'm dusting and I catch a glimpse of her beautiful face staring at me from a picture I've just run my dustrag over. Or when I'm in the grocery store and eye a box of Mallomar cookies which she used to buy for us when we were kids.

My brother and sister-in- law gave my siblings, Dad and I the most thoughtful gift this year. The box it came in was thin and looked like it would house a 4 x 6 photo perfectly so I prepared myself for the opening to reveal a picture of Mom. I felt confident as I pulled on the ribbon that I could handle this just fine. I lifted the top off the box and found a Christmas ornament which read -

Merry Christmas from Heaven
I love you all dearly
Now don't shed a tear
I'm spending my Christmas
With Jesus this year

It was accompanied by a poem that started out, "I still hear the songs, I still see the lights, I still feel your love on cold wintery nights." I fell into a pool of tears that it took me three hours to find my way out of.

My Mom wanted me to have her engagement ring. The day of her funeral the funeral director sent a little box back with my sister that held the jewelery Mom had on, including her engagement ring. We decided we would send the box home with Dad when he left and as he was getting ready to go my sister asked, "Did you take the ring?" I replied, "No. I don't want to assume that Dad's ready to part with it", and while that was true, my response was more about me thinking I wouldn't be able to wear it. It would be too painful and just wouldn't feel right. It belonged on Mom's finger, not mine.

The night I decided to go see Dad we looked at her jewelery again and Dad said, "You should take that", as I held the ring. I asked if he was ready to say goodbye to it and he responded, "I said goodbye to it the day I said goodbye to Mommy." So I apprehensively put it on my finger, expecting once again to be overcome with grief but what I found was just the opposite. I felt a sense of relief. I felt comfort as I do every time I wear it. All I have to do is look down to see a little piece of my Mom.

No, it's not the times when you expect it or you've prepared for it that you'll find it. It's the times when you least expect it that it jumps out and grabs hold of you. Like just now, when I threw Dad's sheets into the washing machine and there was only one pillow case. Like now, when I put a load of his clothes in the dryer and realized I've just used the last dryer sheet out of the box of 100 that Mom bought for me.

A box of dryer sheets ago I still had my Mom fidgeting around in my laundry room.

A box of dryer sheets ago I still had a Mom to call me her"Precious baby girl."

One hundred dryer sheets ago...

Gotta' go. I can feel the beast coming.

xo,
Carrie