Grief: many waves, many seasons

Originally, I was going to write this piece about grieving someone who isn't dead, and grieving something that never existed, as I left my husband and the future I thought I had.

That was before I lost my grandma last week.

Not only did I not think it was possible to grieve something that hadn’t physically died, but I didn’t think I would be grieving multiple people, relationships and versions of myself at a time.

This year has been full of grief for me. I’ve grieved my former self as a partner and a wife. I’ve grieved a life I thought I had. I’ve grieved a person who is still alive. I’ve grieved the woman who lost herself. I’ve grieved a sense of safety. Now, I’m grieving the glue of my family.

And nothing could have prepared me for this.

My grandma had cancer. She was diagnosed this year and had it removed surgically. She was on chemo medication as a preventative.

It all happened so fast. Things started going wrong within a week’s time, but it truly happened within hours. We don’t know what happened, how it happened, or why such a gem of a woman was taken from us so soon.

I’m in denial.

Arguably one of the most difficult stages of grief, to me, is denial. There’s no way to accelerate my understanding and acceptance. Logically I know she’s gone, and I know she can’t come back.

Yet I still think about eating lunch with her on a random Wednesday. I still think about going to see her and getting one of her hugs. I still think about how happy she was to hear about or read my writing.

I also think about how empty her spot on the couch is. How there will be a chair missing on Thanksgiving and Christmas. How much pain October 15th now holds. How she will never hold her great grandchildren, and those children will never know the love she had to give.

But she will always watch over them, over us.

As sweet as that sentiment is, it doesn’t give her the time she lost. The time we lost with her.

Denial. Anger. Denial. Depression. Anger. Denial. Acceptance? No, denial. And anger. And depression.

I’m still grieving my marriage, too. It isn’t the same sort of grief by any means, but it’s still grief.

I was in denial of my situation for a long time, even after leaving. The day I left holds pain. Every court case holds its own pain. The reality holds pain.

Because of the complexity of the separation, I haven’t had the opportunity to actually grieve that relationship and that version of myself. It’s quite a different feeling to mourn the loss of someone that still roams the Earth, drives on the same streets, and for whom you still hold compassion for.

My grandma made me realize it’s okay to hold love for someone that doesn’t reciprocate it, even if they may not deserve it.

Still, there’s lots of rage. Lots of sadness.

I’m still processing it all, and it saddens me that I can’t dedicate my full self to grieving my grandma because I’m still grieving this, too.

The air is getting crisper, the heat is diminishing, and my grief remains.

But I’m doing my best, and my best changes every day. The last couple days, my best has been waking up late for work, being physically present (but not really mentally present), and trying to avoid the dreaded bed rot. I’ve been listening to a lot of comfort music and spending time with my family, and that’s enough for me.