To say that these last two weeks have been tough would be an understatement. Two Mondays ago, my grandpa predicted that he would not last the next week. One week later, he was gone. I got the phone call I was dreading and knew instantly what was going to come of it. I answered the phone and heard, “He’s gone.” My heart hurt. Physically. I got off the phone and my stomach lurched as the sobs took over. I hate crying, I’m what you’d call an “ugly crier.” I hate sobbing even more. But my body didn’t care, it sat there betraying me and just sobbed. For a good 10 minutes. Then suddenly, I stopped and just sat. It was like I couldn’t cry anymore after that. I was inexpressibly sad, my heart hurt and I felt his absence very keenly. But I couldn’t cry. Then I was doubting myself a bit, wondering if I was actually processing it at all because I wasn’t crying. Then I was mad because I felt he deserved more tears than I was able to put out. Then I felt silly because that made no logical sense. Logic. It all goes out the window in times like that.
I continued through the day, quietly, calmly, not letting myself think too much about the fact that my Papaw was gone. Of course, I was confident that he was “gone” to Heaven and that I will see him again one day when I die, but for the here and now which suddenly felt both too short and far too long, he would be absent.
The night before he died, I had just gotten a new coffee table which needed a few coats of polyurethane on the top of it. As I sat putting on coat after coat through the night, it suddenly occurred to me: Papaw wasn’t going to see my new coffee table. I suddenly got the urge to text a photo to my mom so she could show him. Then logic kicked in and I realized how silly that sounded, so I just kept on with my task. It felt strange to think of the changes and life going on without him. Every day things. Moving, new furniture, different hairstyles, new dresses. He won’t see them. That blew my mind in an unexpected way. It was just a coffee table.
I’m doing okay for now. That changes more often than I’d like to admit. I’m completely unmotivated to do anything but sleep. I don’t have a choice but to carry on. I find comfort in doing things, so I keep on, whether I feel motivated or not. My crisis response job has been helpful for me in being able to focus on something other than myself. My kids are taking things in their own way, processing things at different speeds. Jadon is having the hardest time. He’s angry, frustrated, and doesn’t know what to do. He’s acting out at school and I’m trying not to take that personally. I’m trying to see his issues as a representation of hurt rather than malice. It just feels disrespectful of him to be acting this way. Doesn’t he get it? Can’t he show some respect? I know that’s selfish of me though. I can’t make this all about me, as much as I want to. He’s hurting too. I am trying to encourage him to pull people in instead of pushing them away. To talk about his feelings instead of masking them.
My patience tank is running on fumes, and I just want to push “pause” and take a minute. Grieving sucks. Life will go on no matter how hard I kick against it. The new things will keep on coming, the world will keep spinning. I just need to adjust and readjust. After all, it’s just a coffee table.
Till Next Time,