Three Weeks

It's after midnight, I just got in from a movie and everything is strangely quiet. Still. My mind can't really fathom that it's been three weeks since Aggie left us. Time has been...weird; mostly it has seemed to stand still. Lately, though, there are ups and downs, versus just down. The downs are still as deep, as painful, and as raw. Most nights I still cry myself to sleep. 

I think that for a while I expected there to be a moment when life went back to "normal." But whatever that normal was on January 29—it's gone forever. And I am realizing what a long journey this will be. The past three weeks have been filled with confusion, mental wandering, and trying to figure out what life will be shaped like going forward. What do I want? Where do I want to be? Who I am now, without her? I don't have a lot of the answers, but I am starting to feel solid ground under my feet again, which is more than I could have imagined a week ago. I'm starting to find gifts that she has left behind, and they make some of these moments bearable. 

Grams has left me with a new sense of family. She may be gone, but she is still the glue that keeps us all together. She is, afterall, the person that put us all here in the first place. She's in my father, in me, in our mannerisms, in our laughs, and in our dreams at night. She's not all of the things that fit into boxes now. That's not what's left. We are left. We ache, we remember, and we try to grow and be strong like she was.

She's shown me who my true friends are, and what that means. Some of them were by my side naturally, some were unexpected, and the absence of others left me surprised. She's shown me that it's more about what you can give than what you get. 

She's teaching me how to let go of what doesn't matter and hold on for dear life to the things that do. Because it's all about that moment. That last moment. When the only thing that matters is the people you've touched, who you love, who love you, who will hold your hand through anything. Even if it's to walk you to the end. The people who will hold you in their hearts forever. Just like she will be in ours. 

Love, Loss, and Remembering to Breathe

"Each pain makes you more strong, each betrayal more intelligent, every disappointment more skillful and each experience more wise." 

The past twelve days of my life have been unbearable. I've never known a loss so great, so deep, so relentless, and so life changing. With everyday life and it's own set of issues layered on top, most of the time it seems like too much to take. 

We cleaned out my Grandmother's room this weekend, which turns my stomach to even think about. But, Grams, even now, is trying to take care of her family. I found a newspaper article clipping in the back of one of her drawers, "How to Deal with the Death of a Parent." There was one line that rang true, though I still have no idea what to do with it or how to move forward. It said that people are generally surprised by the intensity and range of their emotions, and that is certainly the case. 

Turning off the lights at night and going to sleep seems suffocating. I wake up shaking constantly. Pretty much since the hurricane, it's been one blow after the other. Now the air has calmed and I'm trying to salvage pieces. While there's not enough strength right now for the heavy lifting that has to be done, I'm trying to find peace in the small moments where I can breathe easy, and the little things to be grateful for: friends who remind me to eat, finding a parking space despite a blizzard, a random stranger pushing my car out of the snow, or the concerned coworkers who keep checking in on me. 

So I am going to hope that this makes me more strong, recent life changes more intelligent, and finding solace in the little things more wise. Still, I will continue to miss that woman with every beat of my heart and every breath in my lungs.