I have been very confident that deep grief does not last forever. I tell people grieving a recent loss that the sharp, constant pain they’re suffering now will lessen its grip on them over time. I often have happy thoughts of my mom now, as opposed to the tear-soaked memories soon after she passed.
Yesterday was the third birthday since she died. I approached it confidently it would be another day at work, followed by another evening at home. Nothing different. Nothing dramatic. Nothing painful.
Grief isn’t tidy, and it’s not a respecter of time. It’s torturous. It’s a ratbastard.
After visiting Mom’s grave, I returned to work and stared at my computer screen. We put on our big girl boots and do our job, because, that’s what we do, no matter how persistent the grief is.
I left as soon as the quittin’ time whistle blew. Went straight home, walked the dogs, cleaned up after them, and went to bed. Grief can’t find you if you’re under the magic covers. Yes, I’m an old woman and I still believe in the magic covers.
Loving Husband brought tacos home for dinner. Good ol’ tacos. They weren’t Jack-in-the-Box tacos, but that was okay.
I could have stayed in bed this morning, cocooned and safely held in place by my dogs, but I donned the big girl boots anyway and left for work. You know, because that’s what we do.
Why I thought I could function without coffee is a mystery. I actually left the house without a travel tumbler of Major Dickason and three heaping teaspoons of Splenda, and I wound up at a Sonic drive-in where they have Green Mountain coffee.
The morning was warm, and humid. I left my window down listening to new pop music playing on the outdoor speakers. Up-beat music for the morning, but I don’t know the new stuff. I’m strictly classic rock.
Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley done had a farm (hey Bo Diddley)
Bo Diddley playing at Sonic!
I am confident that when grief comes and tries to wrestle you to the ground, God will intervene and send something good to you, a sweet message meant just for you to bring a smile to your heart. He sent me Bo Diddley.
Mama loved to dance, especially to her 50’s music. I vividly remember her dancing with me when I was a little girl, to this very song on the radio. Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley done had a farm (hey Bo Diddley!) In addition, I know, just as well as I know my name is Michelle, she is dancing in heaven, dancing to Bo Diddley. Heaven, the place full of music and the party never ends. (And the coffee is way better than Sonic’s.)
Having a wonderful time! Wish you were here.