Tears

It is Thanksgiving. I love this day. I anticipate driving to my mom's house and walking in to the smells of the holiday. I love the purity of this day, no gifts, no merchandise, just food, football and family. I like being too full and not worrying about the calories...it is a day of celebration and a day to reflect on blessings. It is supposed to be one of the best days of the year.

This morning, however, I woke up thinking about a friend of mine and the horrible loss of a family member that she and her family suffered just this week. And I cried. She was anticipating a much different day than what she will experience today. She wrote last night that she wished she could just shut her mind down. That is the thing about this kind of pain, there is no off switch. It just is. You just have to take it in and carry it with you. There is that moment when you wake up, that one instant between sleep and waking before realization hits and there it all is again. You get up, will yourself to move, tell yourself to breathe and pick it up again. The only way around is through.

I remember when Randy's dad died so suddenly, so unexpectedly, it seemed like forever before we arrived in Sullivan. There is no way to describe what Randy, Ronnie and Hazel experienced that day. I was so concerned about them and especially Luke. But little Luke was being caregiver to the rest of the family. He was so amazing over the course of the next difficult days, days that didn't seem real. There was a hole in the world, a hole in our hearts, a feeling of falling...just seeing his clothes or coffee cup where he left it that morning. It was hard to breathe at times. Then, there was a knock on the door and two wonderful ladies and their husbands showed up. Hazel and Bob's dearest friends. I tell you, these women knew what to do, I just watched them. They set up a big coffee pot and they set to work, making food, hugging us, but not talking. The days up to the funeral, they were always there, active but silent. More women like this came and did the same things in shifts. You would sit down and a plate was in front of you. When you were finished, it disappeared. They sat with you, held your hand or touched your shoulder. The dishes were washed and put away. They didn't try to offer platitudes or advice. They walked through with Hazel, they talked when she talked to them, they cried when she cried. When I think of that day, I will always remember the feelings of comfort just from their presence.

Then it was all over. After the visitation, the flowers and hugs, the funeral, everyone eventually went home. But Grief remained like Love remains. We were also visited by anger, depression and a whole host of emotions. Time eases it, but today grief comes back for us when we have another Thanksgiving or Christmas without Bob. That hurts.

I think of grief as an ocean. The oceans are always present and always changing. You don't "get over" grief,you learn to live with it. Your emotions will ebb and flow just like that living body of water. There are the days you are out in the middle with no sign of land. There are the days that you ride the tempest out, when the waves crash and toss you to and fro, days that are cold and gray, but there are also days of stillness with beautiful sunrises and sunsets. You learn to take the day that comes to you. You learn to keep moving, but not fight what is before you.

So to my friend and her family, I send you my love today. Your loss matters. I hurt because you hurt. I will think of you today. I will hold those that I love tighter and I will cherish the memories made today more than I would have and I will pray for you all today and in the days to come. I will take time to give thanks for all that I have been blessed with and for my family and friends.