the grief spiral

Grief spirals in its healing-
sometimes it spirals up-
some times it spirals down-
sometimes it spirals in the same spot-
and I hit the spot of pain every time- whether I'm going up or down or staying in the same spot-
and sometimes it hurts like hell and sometimes it's an ant bite-

but "I've learned to kiss the waves that throw me up against the Rock of Ages" (Spurgeon)- I have learned that regardless, He is.

1996

1996: "it was the best of times- it was the worst of times..."

that was 20 years ago, y'all. I understand the amazement with which my elders marvel at the passage of time- so much can happen in such a short amount of time.

What's awesome about the passage of THIS particular two decades is how technology has connected us- without the internet, my husband and I would not have been able to connect and get to know each other.  Without the internet, I would not be able to connect with my high school friends. And because of this connection through micro-fibers and over the miles, we were able to come together in Birmingham and re-unite after 20 years. We talked about the Present, we talked about the Future... and we dared to talk about the Past.

I posted a picture of us on Facebook at noon.  Throughout the afternoon, my phone lit up with notifications of "comments" and "likes" like it was Christmas or the Fourth of July. One comment in particular made me catch my breath: "I know it's already been said, but it really does seem like Erin should be there." Erin died in May 1994- the end of our sophmore year in high school. She and I had argued two days before her death in a car accident... I was in shock for a long time...
We had mentioned Erin here and there- Erin: the raven-haired beauty, unique, loud, lovely... she walked to the beat of her own drummer... which one did not do in 7th grade... but she did...

That evening at dinner, I don't know what spurred my friend to it, but she excused herself and returned to the table. A few minutes later, the hostess approached our table with a chair and sat it between us.

I looked up at the hostess: was this a blast from the past? Should I know who this girl is? What was the surprise?

I looked down at the chair. I looked at my friend. She was looking at her hands. "for Erin?" I breathed.

She nodded.

Did I say the curse word or did I just think it? And I silently eye-balled everyone around the table and glanced at the chair intermintently and mouthed "for Erin." And I lost it. Right there in a Mexican restruant in Birmingham, AL. I cried. I cried for all the time I lost in high school. I cried for all the pain I had bottled up. And we held hands and wept.

22 years after her death... 20 years after we graduated from high school. We cried.

As I drove back home alone, I wept. For the fact that I have such a special group of friends... some I have known since 3rd grade. I do not take that for granted. 

And I cried for a new revelation about grief:

What's misunderstood about grief is that greiving can take a long time. For me there are some tragedies that I can't "get over." Tragedy marks you. It can lead you down rabbit holes and you never come up for air. Or those rabbit holes lead you to Jesus... depends on the path you take at the cross roads.

What I've learned about grief is:
Don't be afraid to feel

don't be afraid of what people will say

don't be afraid to ask for help

God never said it would be an easy ride... only that He would be with us along the way...

for Erin:

why does it matter? a missive to mothers (and fathers) (even the fur-babies)

So I've been working all weekend catching up on laundry. And cleaning. And re-cleaning. And cleaning again. The cycle makes me think of the quote about the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again and to expect different results.

A friend even asked the question on Facebook recently about why did it make sense to clean a house just for it to get messy again. 

Stay-at-home moms, working moms, fur-baby moms, I've been hearing you all talk about mommy guilt (I exclude you, men, at this point, because I've not heard you talk about daddy-guilt... is that a thing?) - and you've heard me talk about my mommy guilt: am I doing enough? I know that I'm screwing it up... [fyi, I know that I am.... and did our moms go through this? talk about a hamster wheel I want to get off of... I hate this feeling]. 

Okay so, follow me down this rabbit hole- I'm washing clothes for the boys' first days of schools and I'm labeling school supplies and I'm thinking about this new school year - my 13th as a school-based Speech-Language Pathologist - and I'm thinking about my caseload: I have a stash of dress shirts that my boys don't need because there was a gaggle last year who did not have dress shirts for awards day and they had a hard time with it.... and how I bought extra pencils and folders and tissue for my kids because they are not able to provide their own supplies.... and I'm thinking about those babies who will come to school without breakfast (and how I need to get a stash of snacks for those kids who even miss breakfast at school)... and I think about how I constantly refer to Maslow's hierarchy of needs when it comes to kids being ready to learn...

http://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

When you look at the model, the first level is biological and physiological needs: food, water, shelter, clothing. The second level is safety needs. The third is love and a sense of belonging. The forth level is esteem needs. And the fifth level is self-actualization. Maslow's theory is that a person cannot reach his full potential if his basic  needs are not met.

So while I feel like my cleaning and house keeping and going to the job goes without any recognition and is meaningless, it's quite the contrary... my children cannot realize that they are grateful for my contributions. But they would be fully aware if those contributions were absent. Kids who come to school without clean clothes face ridicule from others - when they are hungry, they cannot concentrate to learn.

So, mommas (and daddies) get off that hamster wheel of mommy guilt and feeling that what you do does not matter. It does matter.