Grief Learning Curve

Grief is such a strange experience. There is no one size fits all tshirt to wear and share. You can say you had a shirt similar to that. Or that the fabric felt the same. The shirt bunched up and made you mad. It was too loose and caught on the door while you tried to escape.

We have all worn the tshirt but not the same size.

I had a Tom tshirt. Rick tshirt. Now a dad tshirt. Each of those grief shirts fit differently. The experience is similar because I’m wearing a tshirt covered in grief but the feelings are all different.

Tom’s tshirt was utter depths of despair at losing my other half. My brother. A part of my soul.

Rick’s tshirt I balled up and refused to wear and only recently put it on and cried at the loss of my best friend. A similar feeling of despair like Tom. A feeling of being abandoned and left behind.

Dads tshirt. A whole new product line. This grief renders itself in silence. Then quaking sobs. Gut wrenching tears. Then an empty nothingness. No despair. Sadness. Quiet sadness I want to sit alone with and hold my heart while it heals.

Grief.

Losing a parent is a different grief.

I am not myself.

Part of who made me is no longer here and my body and soul knows it. My chemistry is trying to recalibrate for the empty vibration.

I wake with no memory of my father gone but also no memory of what day it is or if it’s winter or summer. Day or night.

I did not know my dad was a part of my internal compass keeping me together. Maybe he was the north magnet and I was the south as we constantly repelled against each other.

I’m anxious again. Now in the silent silence. Still is too still. The steady hum buzz buzz of the brain vibrates.