I Name You, Grief. Get Off My Ass.

The Blonde is coming clean.

I've gotten sorta fat. Not fat fat, just kind of chubby.

Friends, it has been a tough winter. Our community was hit by two horrible tragedies months apart.  Both events shook us to the core, tested us in ways we've never been tested before.  I mourn the loss of a friend and her family.  I mourn for a family that lost two beautiful children and a cousin.  

My son was hit particularly hard by the first tragedy when he lost a buddy, a pal, a remarkable boy that always had time for him. An older boy that gave him confidence. A mentor who taught him. A friend that had almost everything in common with him. A boy who, when his interests and strengths were memorialized, could have been my own son. 

My son and I are struggling, and as I look back over my fatfull journey I am realizing that I was not doing as well as it may have seemed on the outside.

When I wrote last week about my struggle with "blogger's block" someone emailed me suggested that I was fighting writing about something. This could not be more true. The funny Blonde was spent. I know this because, shortly after I read that kind post, I sat down and wrote for myself and it was an extremely cathartic experience. That night I gave birth to my grief, my fear, my frustration and an understanding of how it had all been manifesting itself. It was all so personal and I do intend to post it. At first I thought I'd post it when it no longer hurt for me to read it, but I doubt I'll ever get there. I will post it soon.

Mark Twain wrote, "Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with."

When I first read this quote I thought, "Does one who suffers grief believe the first part of this quote? I don't think I do."  

As I pondered this quote further, I began to think of grief in a different way.  I think Grief takes care of itself in any damn way it pleases.  Grief is a greedy bastard.

In my life, Grief took care of itself by eating and drinking and now I'm fat. So maybe it does take care of itself but how can I tell Grief that it is full, satiated? 

I don't think it is full or even remotely satiated, I think Grief is going to stick around. If this is the case, Grief needs to find a new hobby.

I have gained a significant amount of weight, 18 pounds to be exact. 18 pounds on an almost five foot person is a lot.  This week The Blonde has kicked Grief in the ass and told it to find another vice because this chick isn't going to stand for it anymore.

I let go of 5 pounds and haven't let Grief eat and drink the way that it had been, but Grief doesn't want to go away. If I have to share my life with Grief how can we co-exist? Grief is a major pain in my ass, a huge downer.

I told Grief why it was here, I gave it a name but it still sits heavy on my heart. Grief keeps tugging on my brain filling it with thoughts of loss, anger, confusion and despair. I'm mostly pissed off at Grief because if he is wreaking such havoc on my life, I know of others that he will not leave alone for a moment. 

I pray for a family, a mother who I miss.  My son and I will never forget and I wish I could tell her that, because her son had such influence on who my son is today.  Her boy was older but he was my boys friend, something he'll never forget.  At a time in his life when my son struggled with confidence, with how he fit in, this boy reached out to him.  I want to tell her this but Grief keeps stabbing me in the mouth, it cripples my hand every time I want to write a letter or drop a note. Perhaps she'll read this and if she does I'd want her to know that I will continue to hold my sons hand and remember with him and that every night I pray for her and her family, I pray and cry and I grieve, I grieve her loss and I grieve the loss of her in my life.

She may not know this, but she had a huge impact in my life as a parent, she is a kind and amazingly smart and beautiful person and I'm grieving, me, who was really probably more of an acquaintance to her. I can't imagine how Grief could be taking care of itself in her life. This fact also makes me grieve, it just isn't fair. I don't understand. People always say, "there are no words". Of course there aren't. People say how strong they must be but I have to tell you, I'm pretty strong and Grief won't leave me alone. I'm little, I'm short, I'm athletic, I'm strong, I'm smart, I'm the kind of person who is organized and involved in everything at school, I'm a Super Mom, and Grief put 18 pounds on my ass this winter while taking care of itself.  Grief has helped me to forget appointments and become disorganized. Grief has changed who I was and, no matter how strong a person is, Grief has a greater purpose and Grief is stronger than any person, particularly in the life of a person who has lost their babies. I grieve desperately for this reason.

Grief has me in tears as I write this.

So, while I have kicked Grief out of my kitchen and wine glass, Grief continues to take care of itself in my life. My only recourse is to clear a spot and welcome it to reside within me. I am begging Grief to find a place that doesn't wreak havoc on my health, I'm begging Grief to let me be the reliable member of my community that I used to be.

Where do I put Grief so that it can take care of itself without destroying who I am?

I am so grateful to those who follow and subscribe, to my readers who have stuck by me and emailed me on so many occasions.  My blog has become my fourth child, and I think it may have just saved me.