Ramblings of Grief

Over the past 6 and a half years, I’ve learned that grief almost gets more complicated over time (as if grief could possibly be any more complicated). For me, holidays and special dates used to approach like an oncoming train: overwhelming, distracting, loud, anxiety-inducing, and causing the world around me to shake. Now, these dates may feel a bit less daunting as they approach, but they’re still difficult and draining when they come around. I feel nostalgic, heavy, or numb instead of not being able to function. That sounds like something to look forward to when you’re in your early days of loss and the heaviest fog of grief, but it’s actually a chilling feeling. Am I forgetting him? Is he watching over me, disappointed that I’m not dreading the important days or feeling debilitated by my grief? Am I accepting the permanence of death by not crawling into a hole? Do I love him less? Does he matter less?

Of course, the answer to all of these questions is NO. My brain knows that. But my heart says otherwise. My heart says I love him so much that not hurting all the time downplays his absence. That’s just not true. Part of me believes it’s my brain protecting me from experiencing continuous waves of heavy grief. Another part of me feels it’s me having gone through some healing to process and work through his loss. (Grief is complicated and nonsensical because even writing that last sentence pained me.)

Sam’s birthday is approaching. He would have been 31 on the 7th of May. I have spent more of his birthdays celebrating without him than I did celebrating with him (another awful feeling to experience). When he was alive, we would go see the new Marvel movie that came out right before his birthday every year. I continued that tradition even after his passing, but haven’t since 2019 because of the pandemic. I always visit the cemetery and have coffee with his dad on his birthday, and my family usually has a small party or gathering. I’m thinking about going to see Multiverse of Madness this year, visiting his grave, and seeing his dad. It takes a lot of energy to think about how I’d like to celebrate him. How do I make sure I’m doing his memory justice on the day he was born? How do I make sure others important to him still remember and honor him on that day? How do I acknowledge that he has been gone longer than the time that I knew him for?

Grief is a lot.

I’m typically someone who can express words eloquently and naturally. I’ve noticed that isn’t the case the further I get into this journey. Perhaps it’s that I’ve lost so many more loved ones since his passing and my brain simply doesn’t know how to process that. Maybe it’s easier for my brain to keep it all in a little box, tucked away until it becomes so overflowed that it erupts from its hiding place.

All of these thoughts are things I don’t know if I’ll ever fully know the answer to, but I do know that traditions and celebrations are so important in the grieving process. Grieving doesn’t end, but it evolves and ebbs and flows, and being sure to continue honoring the person you’ve lost will help you make it through the waves.

xo