Funkified

These are the days- when the sunshine doesn’t matter and the wind makes you wish you were somewhere else. When all the words that come out seem half-formed and the ideas hang unfinished…like a train of thought-

Derailed.

Mourning is an interesting process. It starts harsh- like a slap in the face. Shock, bewilderment, confusion. Then the denial sets in- but not the way you think it would. Instead of angrily shouting at the sky, it sneaks in quietly. It’s as if your mind can’t even handle the concept of such a loss, so you actually forget that it happened-momentarily- while you’re washing your hands you start humming to yourself and when you look up in the mirror you suddenly remember….

Then the hurt. The inappropriate laughter. The tears. The lump at the back of your throat.

Then you hop on a plane and have an emotional break down in front of the whole rear cabin. People either avoid looking at you or openly stare, as if having tears rolling down your face is abnormal and wrong. As if showing emotion in public is a disease. I feel like I should have a circus-crier next to me: “Step right up ladies and gentlemen, gape in awe and wonderment at this freak of all freaks. You’ve heard the stories and now it’s time to see for yourself! The one, the only, PUBLIC CRYING GIRL!! What a story to tell your friends, ladies and gentlemen…”

Then the memories start. At first it’s hard to find any. Then they flood back so fast you can’t even see them clearly.

Then a week passes. A month. You go back to life.

But everything is not okay. You are cold. Harsh. Void of emotion. You are going through the motions but you’re not quite all there. You’re mind is somewhere else, but you’re not exactly sure where “there” is. You don’t even know what you’re thinking about. You are easily distracted, and constantly preoccupied with ….. nothing.

And there’s nothing to do but wait it out. Feel what you feel and acknowledge that it’s real. Wake every day and remind yourself that yes, that’s what happened, and yes, it’s part of life, and yes, it’s okay to feel like this.

And so for me…the memories of Christmas cookies and Scrabble games and backrubs that have made up my life have an element of sadness to them. The walks the talks and the day to day that formed who I am, the person I have become, the woman I will be…and realizing that the people I lived with formed my life just by being there and being themselves. Realizing that I am a walking-talking fingerprint of the people who raised me. And suddenly becoming aware of the parts of me that are so definitely….her.

So, not in fact gone- but in me.

I miss you Grandma…