There is no short cut
I have always been the type of person who has the mentality of all or nothing. If I’m going to do something I’m like Nike, Just do it! Unfortunately, this doesn’t apply to everything in life. Grief is one of those things.
You see, my dad was the patient one. He had lots of patience. Me…eh…not so much. That’s one of the reasons I hated being in the passenger’s seat when he drove. I just wanted to get there. Get to the next stop. Keep moving.
Dad was more for the scenic route. The long way home.
He was never in a rush.
I feel that way with grief. My dad passed away just over a month ago. I thought for sure my life wouldn’t go on. That if it did, I would just spend days crying and then things would slowly go back to normal. I’ll cry, I’ll grieve and then it will be over, and I’ll be OK. Like a skinned knee, a broken bone, a cold.
Grief is not like that!
Death is not like that!
Each day I wake up is different. As if your life is just the same. Yet your life is very different.
Some days you feel angry at the world over what seems like silly things. You run into someone, and they simply say, “Hey, sorry about your dad” and hug you. One day you may respond, “Thanks!” and smile.
Another day you may take a deep breath as you choke back tears because you’re standing in Starbucks and God forbid you cry in the middle of a store in front of all these people who will judge you.
Some days you smile while thinking of something funny he would have said or a memory of him pops into your head, and it makes you happy.
Then you run into the person who must know you just lost someone close, yet they just simply say, “Hi! How are you?” as they make simple conversation, never acknowledging your loss. You smile and chat while inside your head you are having your own conversation.
“Are they serious? MY DAD DIED!!
Why don’t you know my dad died?
You are supposed to tell me you’re sorry.
Why aren’t you saying you’re sorry.
Ugh! Stop saying you’re sorry!”
Inside your head you want to punch this person in the face and scream at them. How can they be so insensitive??
It’s the strangest feeling. As much as you don’t want to talk about it, you want people to acknowledge it. And when they don’t, it only makes you angry. You wonder if they don’t even know or simply don’t know what to say.
Some days, I feel like I must look normal on the outside. Like everyone is assuming I’m fine. I’m not.
I may appear that way. I may even smile. At times I smile harder, because I know how I feel inside and wonder how many others do, too. My smile may help brighten someone else’s day.
Honestly, I just get up and keep going. Maybe even fake it.
Then there are those days when it just hits me. Often, out of the blue. I find myself running to the ladies’ room in tears.
It’s like I keep waiting for it to hit me. I think one day I won’t be able to get out of bed because I will be so overcome with grief.
For the most part, I just feel tired. No tears, just tired. I forget things. It’s as if my great memory has died, too.
There are days I need to be alone in solitude with my grief.
Other days I want to be surrounded by others. Forget about the pain and sadness for a while.
Then there are the moments I want to share stories and talk about dad. Tell everyone how amazing he was.
I think the scariest thing about grief is that you are never sure when it will hit. Or what form it will take, be it tears, anxiety or even anger.
For now, I’m learning to take each moment as it comes. Whether it’s strength or laughter.
If I need to cry, I cry.
If I need to nap, I nap.
If I need to scream, I scream.
One thing that is certain in grief is that there is no wrong way to experience it, just take it as it comes.
Adventures of the Traveling Grief Case 
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