Sneaky Grief

Husband and I on coffee date in Fremont

Grief is sneaky. There is no warning of when it will overtake you, no “heads up today will be a blue day,” or no banner that flies through the sky to say, “Don’t listen to the radio today, you’ll hear a song Husband sang often.”

Grief doesn’t come with labels. It doesn’t say, “That movie will touch a sore spot,” or “If you use that cup you’ll think of Husband.” It doesn’t tell you not to use a fragrance, no you spray it and then the tears come.

Grief happens. It doesn’t matter if it’s three months or three years. It still happens.

What do you do with grief that sneaks in to rob your joy?

I’ve tried to ignore the feelings. That doesn’t work. Feelings are real—might as well acknowledge them and do something.

I’ve tried shopping. That doesn’t work—I’m reminded more of the times when Husband talked to the clerks. “I better be good to my wife or she might not feed me. She’s threatened that a time or too.” Often I leave the store empty handed knowing the tears will blast through any minute.

I’ve tried sleeping—for me to sleep eleven hours straight usually means I’m trying to ignore the inevitable. I drag myself from bed feeling worse than if I’d slept only six hours.

Often I wait too many hours before I call a friend. “Hey, how are you?” I ask.

Is it terrible if I say I feel better when they have more problems?

Still Lionhearted, Kat