"It'll be hard", they said. 6/24/13

"It'll be hard", they said. "You have to make sure you take care of yourself", they said.  "All the feelings will come back again", they said.  And they were right.

People tell you how you will feel for certain events.  Movies and TV tell us to cry at weddings, cry when we leave our first-born at kindergarten, bean with pride at graduation, etc.  Everyone is full of advice for those that are grieving a loved ones' loss, too.  Mostly, they are right on track.  Mostly.

You see, "they" can say all they want to you - but nothing prepares you for the waves of grief.  You can be going through all the motions of life, talking, laughing, helping prepare dinner, cleaning up - and CRASH!  Tears, sobbing, struck silent because speaking would turn into crazy shrieking......it all hits you like a huge salt-water wave from behind.  Then life goes on pause while you cry it out, talk it through, do whatever it takes to re-surface from the drowning that is grief.

So I'll agree - it was hard.  Being together with the entire family but feeling his absence like a knife in my stomach was hard.  Making sure all the details for the service were in place, yet knowing all along why we were doing those things was hard. The finality of people arriving at the chapel, the service actually happening, seeing and welcoming old friends for a terrible, terrible reason was hard.  It was also beautiful, comforting, and a blessing.  Because those friends weren't just there for him.  They were there for us.  That part of celebrating and remembering someone's life is amazing.  You see each other and although years have taken their toll on the physical appearance, the jokes, personalities, and love you've had for these friends immediately resurfaces.  Then you promise to get together again soon and not let so much time pass. 

All of that was hard.  But you know what's even harder?  After.  The service ends, the friends go to their homes, the visiting with family ends, we head home, and......nothing.  Nothing to look forward to.  Waking up and thinking "why?"  The hammer of ALONE FOREVER hitting me in the head again and again.  Convincing myself to do chores and catch up on TV and try to enjoy the pool when I'd rather sit in my bathrobe and stare.

It's a kaleidoscope of feelings - twisting toward resigned, happy memories, sadness, anger, despair, etc. etc.  And there are no "stages" (sorry, Ms. Ross).  There is more a gumbo of different feelings that swim around and attack you when you suspect it least.

So - go ahead, tell me how I will feel.  At least I'll know that someone else has been there and knows how hard it is, and that it hits without warning.  If I'm crying, talk to me anyway, that's better than being alone forever.  And if it happens to you, or to someone close to you - remember: It'll be hard.

Truer words were never spoken.