I did get a new vehicle, a beautiful creature I have named Scarlett. Of course her name comes from the one and only Scarlett O’Hara. Fictional or not, I admire this woman immensely for her creativity, strength, and no fucks given attitude. Welcome to my crazy life, Scarlett. Hopefully you can hang.
That being said, I’ve been extremely busy now that I have a reliable vehicle and the weather is warming. I’ve started some plants indoors, took a mini roadtrip with the boys, have been helping brother coordinate a couple things, and of course the never ending parenting gig and my 9-5. Okay, 9-6, whatever. I have my next two weekends mapped out – movies with Matt, a trip to see brother, lunch date and bowling. . .
If I’m busy I don’t have time to think.
The next couple of months suck for me. If you’ve known me long enough, you know why.
March brings the anniversary of my father, Matts uncle, and my Papaw’s passing, as well as my mother’s birthday. April was when my mom, grandfather and cousin all passed, not to mention Mamaw’s birthday. These aren’t all of them, however there’s so much loss crammed into March and April it tends to throw me off kilter a little.
It’s hard. The emotional rollercoaster is a rough one. I deal every year, even as we lose more people and I add the dates to my emotional calendar.
The next several days are especially hard. Dad and Matt’s uncle Josh passed on March 3rd, four years apart. My mom’s birthday is the 6th, and Papaw passed on the 9th.
And I realized last night that I’m not okay. I’ve been faking it, trying to even fool myself. Tuesday night in particular. I wrote a sad Facebook post about dad, posted it. And deleted it half an hour later because I felt better and didn’t want to see the sad reactions and soothing comments.
But that’s not what an emotionally okay person does.
I read a blog post last night about letting grief in. And the metaphors were absolutely enchanting, and the piece spoke to me deeply.
It’s okay to not be okay. To be sad. To go through the rituals of life with just the intention of getting through the day. I’ve been so busy faking that I’m okay, and in the evening I feel so exhausted from the effort. . .
I’m not okay. And I know I’ll get through this week, these next couple of months, and I’ll be okay again. But not at this moment in time. Knowing the sad days coming, I’m filled with dread, I’m anxious. I can’t sleep, and then I don’t want to get out of bed. I feel a little crazy, truth be told. And still, I have demands that need met regardless of my emotional turmoil.
So here’s my statement.
I am going to focus on getting through these next few days and weeks, and I am not going to carry a mask, put up a facade. I am going to take care of the things that can’t wait – my kids need to eat and bathe and do homework, I need a paycheck, etc. – But otherwise I’m not going to pretend my world and mentality isn’t completely fucked up. I may opt to ignore messages, turn off Facebook notifications, not talk to people. I may on a whim need a lunch date with my friends, or just a day lost inside a book. Whatever my need is, I’m doing it. Because at the end of this tunnel, I’ll be myself again.
Some of you have been through this with me, and had to deal with random outbursts of anger and tears, moments where you perhaps questioned my sanity. Because I would have an outburst and be fine the next day. This, my friends, is the finest example of the toll grief takes on a person. I appreciate those that have stuck with me through those times. Further, I appreciate your patience while I try this new method of embracing my grief instead of burying it.
If you don’t hear from me or I don’t respond when you call or text, don’t take it personal, and don’t worry! I’m physically okay, I’m not mad at you, I’m just dealing with my life as it is. I’m going to spend a lot of time at the cemetery, and driving Scarlett, and doing whatever it takes to keep my emotions at an even keel. Hopefully this is something I grow from. Hopefully I learn more about myself, and can cope with grief better at the end of it all.
Until then, you are all amazing, wonderful beings – and I appreciate each one of you for your time and existence.