Grief Is Funny That Way…🎭

I am 29 years old, and for the first time in my life, I have truly experienced grief.

I thought I had grieved many things and even many people, but this past year has surrendered my heart to what grief really looks like.

For as long as I can remember, I heard people say that losing a parent changes you. I always thought, Well, I don't really have my parents, so how much could it really change me?

Oh, the arrogance.

The deception.

My mother's passing has exposed so much in me. Honestly... it's scary.

I often find myself missing the idea of what I desired more than what actually was. And within that realization, I have had to acknowledge something difficult: the grace I swore I was extending to my mother was fabricated and predatory, at best.

Yes, predatory.

Because I was fully aware of what she was capable of giving, and I still demanded more.

The more I learn about my mother's life, the more I grieve her potential.

If I'm being honest, my mother's passing and understanding who she was before and after becoming a mother has given me a true understanding of the saying, "Your parents were once children."

Of course, I always knew they were once children. But knowing something intellectually and actually conceptualizing it are two completely different things.

Trying to reconcile who my mother was as a child, the things she experienced that were entirely outside of her control, with who she became as a parent... has been overwhelming.

Why do parents hide their truth?

Why do they shield us from the realities of their scars and the weight of their pain?

It can feel like protection, but how are we protected from wounds we don't even know exist?

One of the greatest revelations throughout this journey is that where disgust once lived concerning my mother, sadness now resides.

Not because she didn't share her story.

I'm sad because I wonder if she ever felt safe enough to share it with anyone.

I find myself wondering about everything and nothing all at once.

Some days it feels like a never ending maze.

I'm learning how to embrace myself throughout this experience because, in the end, I believe it'll be worth it.

At least that's how I cope with it.

Because grief is funny that way.

It has a way of convincing you that you've accepted something, only to uncover another layer you have to work through all over again.

It's a never-ending cycle.

One you have to allow yourself to navigate with HEALTHY tools.

There are five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.

I've learned that every stage exposes something new about me, this process, and the people connected to this journey.

Sometimes I'm in denial that she's really gone.

I've always known this day would come, but knowing it and living it are two completely different things.

Low-key... high-key...

How dare she die?

Who does she think she is, just leaving like that?

I'm rarely angry for myself.

I'm angry for my siblings.

They never got to experience the glimpses of beauty in her the way I did.

I was the last of her children to hear her say, "Happy Birthday."

and I got some of her best recipes.

Those may seem like small things, but they aren't because she's no longer.

And that makes me angry—because they don't have those imprints.

I often bargain with the thought that maybe, if her children had somehow chosen her over their own desires and personal gain, she'd still be here.

But that's a conversation for another day... and another post.

I've sat beside depression.

I just haven't had the luxury of really getting to know her not in this season of my life at least.

My babies need me.

More importantly...

I need me.

So although she came to visit depression that is, I wasn't too fond of her company.

We parted ways.

Some days I feel like I've accepted all of this.

Other days, I feel like I've accepted none of it.

And on those days, when acceptance isn't even in the room, I do this.

I write.

I process.

I search for meaning in whatever pieces I can gather.

Because the part of me that struggles the most to accept all of this is the little girl in me who never got to experience the nurturing and affection she longed for from her mother.

Grief is funny that way.

It doesn't always show up as tears.

Sometimes it arrives as questions.

Sometimes as compassion.

Sometimes as anger.

Sometimes as silence.

And sometimes it introduces you to parts of yourself you never knew existed.

So when it's your turn to encounter griefand one day it will, I pray you give yourself grace.

Especially if you've already encountered it and you're still trying to figure out how to navigate it.

Create the space you need.

Hold that space for as long as you need to.

But whatever you do...

Don't build your home there.

One day at a time.

Little by little.

We'll make it through.

I LOVE  YOU 🤍!