I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. I see twists and turns and pits that will throw me further down into deeper depression. My heart is heavy. My breathing is slowed. Moving around is much more of an effort. I can physically feel the loss. It’s painful throughout my entire body. I just want to sleep all the time, but I have to go to work.

There is little motivation to be creative, but I know it will help. I started a new painting and got through two colors, then it sat untouched for weeks. Creativity always lifts the spirits, but I don’t always want or need to be lifted. Sometimes I just need to sit with the feelings.

Like ocean waves, the grief comes and goes. It passes over me, and again, and again. The same but also slightly different every time. I’ve said this next thought before in a previous post: Joy is fleeting, but so is sadness. It doesn’t feel fleeting when you are still in it. It feels immediate and real. She is really gone. Mom-mom, our beloved grandmother, has really passed on. 

The rooms she occupied are empty. Void of her presence. It’s not okay. It’s really not. The furniture is all changing. This grief hits different. I am not okay. We want our grandparents to live forever.

It will take many more months, or even years to process, and I am not going to rush to the end. I am going to sit with it at home. And at work, at church, at weekend retreats, at game nights. She is with me wherever I go. Forever. Everyone I’ve loved and lost is still with me.

When I was in college, one of my brothers moved far away. I wrote about how I felt. It started like this, “I refuse to be comforted, so don’t even try.” I think in these moments, we don’t need words. Words are often empty and unhelpful. In these times, I also don’t need to be alone. When I am alone for too long, my thoughts tend to spiral further away from the truth. I simply need to BE with others. To exist in a space with people who love me and require nothing from me in the moment.

Time is precious. I visited her often and would say my visits were to give the family a break and to keep her company in her loneliness. Now that she’s gone, I think she was the one keeping me company during those weekends. I honestly wanted to get away from the business of my regular life. She was my excuse to stay in rather than to go out. I’d rather take a nap beside her than be sociable. I said no to many events and many friends in order to see her for a few days at a time. She was a sanctuary for me. I am so grateful for all those weekends I spent with her.

One of my best friends just had a baby. They had been trying for years, and the Lord has finally provided. They are wonderful parents, and I can’t wait to love this new person. Life goes on. People change. Friends move. Couples split and reunite. Grandparents die. 

Hearts get broken, but we humans must move forward. That doesn’t mean it hurts any less. But there is more love to give. There are more people to meet. More babies to make. Through the sadness, my cup still overflows with joy at every piece of good news. The promotion, the trip, the new puppy etc. 

Even though life ends, it is still worth living every moment. This reminder shines one iota of light into the musky tunnel. A tiny scrap of hope to pull me out of my despair. One small wildflower growing in a crack of the dark asphalt. If I cling to this idea that there are more great loves to be had, and I pull on it like a rope, it feels strong. I may yet crawl out. There is more to life than darkness. 

Life is long, but God remains faithful through all generations. I’ll be okay. 

This alternate end of my “Grief” post is more similar to the truth of how I feel. She’s been gone a year. I do still miss her, but it’s easier now.