GRIEF: it hits you when you least expect it


The last two weeks have been hard.  On top of everything with school early last week it hit me.  Grief hit.  I told a friend last night it was a bus hit me coming out of nowhere.  It hurt.  It still hurts.

As defined by Google:

GRIEF:  deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone’s death.


I’ve cried every day for two weeks.  Some nights it’s  even been for a half hour or longer.

It hurts.

It hits when you least expect it.

A song.

A book.

A photo.

A quote.

Really, anything can trigger it.

A friend of mine that I went to visit the Tuesday afternoon on the day that my mom died told me something along the lines of this: don’t hold yourself back from grieving.  And that’s what I’ve been doing.  I’ve held a lot of it in in the last seven months.  Most of the time I try to squash the feelings of despair and heartache until something is able to catch my attention and take my focus elsewhere.

In the last two weeks I’ve read “Traveling Light: Releasing the Burdens You Were Never Intended to Bear” by Max Lucado (I highly recommend this!) and in this book there’s a specific chapter on grief.  In this chapter there is this passage:

It’s hard to bear because not everyone understands your grief. They did at first. They did at the funeral. They did at the graveside. But they don’t know now; they don’t understand. Grief lingers.

As silently as a cloud slides between you and the afternoon sun, memories drift between you and joy, leaving you in a chilly shadow. No warning. no notice. Just a whiff of the cologne he wore or a verse of the song she loved, and you are saying good-bye all over again.

Why won’t the sorrow leave you alone?

Because you buried more than a person. You buried some of your self. Wasn’t it John Donne who said, “Any man’s death diminishes me”? IT’s as if the human race resides on a huge trampoline. The movements of one can be felt by all. And the closer the relationship, the more profound the exit. When someone you love dies, it affects you.

It affects your dreams.

It took me reading this passage several times before I told myself, “Jess, it’s okay.”

It’s okay to cry.

It’s okay to laugh.

It’s okay to feel lost.

It’s okay to feel broken.

It will be okay.

It will be okay, and I know it’s true because that’s what mom used to say… and she was pretty much always right.