It's astounding how many different elements there are to working
through grief. The closer the person was in your life who died, the
more there is to it. Same with other complicating factors, that just
add more dimensions and aspects. At first, it seems like the layers
come through rather quickly. New things hit often enough that it
feels like it's an ongoing process. It gets hard to trust that
things are really what they are, because new things have come up, and
keep coming up. There's no way to know if or when the next will
appear, but it never seems to take long. Hell, sometimes the next
comes along before we're even feeling done with the previous one.
And then a plate that already felt full feels overloaded. And if it
was feeling overloaded, well, we wonder if this'll be the one to make
it crack.
And yet, after awhile, enough's been worked through that it seems
like it might be the end. The levels don't unfold as quickly
anymore. We get some time to work through things. We get periods
where there's not stuff coming up, that starts feeling like we've
made some progress. We get to enjoy feeling a bit more settled with
who we are, with who we've been becoming. We get to have a sense
that we're actually handling things OK. There's a sense of confidence
and comfort that comes with that. It starts feeling like life might
be something we're going to be able to deal with again after all.
And then another fucking layer unfolds on us, and we find ourselves
yanked into another go 'round on the rollercoaster.
I'd said before I hope to get to the point that most of what comes to
mind when I think of her is the good memories, the good times we
shared. Sure, it'd be unrealistic to expect the bad memories would
be completely gone. I don't know of any way to erase all of those
without erasing EVERYTHING. Besides, if nothing else, the memories
of the bad times are good indicators of what isn't worth accepting
again. What isn't worth it, no matter how many other things might be
good....or might seem to be good. But those can be safely tucked
away 'til they're needed, and most of what comes up is the good
memories. That was the hope, anyway.
The one thing I hadn't really counted on is that having the good
memories come back up could hurt so much. They're such a strong
reminder of where there had been good elements and good times. And
those are the things I really miss. Not having thought of them much,
I hadn't missed them, not as specifically. But when they suddenly
come to mind, bursting through like the rays of the sun shoving
through the storm clouds that have blanketed the sky....all too often
they hurt, too. The warmth of the sun is welcome after the frigid
gale and rain, but when your skin's already raw and burned, it hurts,
too. And I'd never considered how much work there might be that'd go
into reclaiming those good memories, those good elements.
Another fucking layer to unravel. At this point, I'm afraid to
wonder if this is the last. I'm afraid to assume it is...because I
might be proven wrong...again.
