Tuesday, February 9, 2016

You Don't Know Until You Know



If you were still here, I could just drive like 10 minutes and see you. 

I’ve said it before, “I miss you”, but every day that goes by since you’ve been gone, I learn a little bit more of the actual feelings of those words.  I talked to Bailey last night and she mentioned that this weekend will mark 6 months you’ve been gone already.  That doesn’t feel right, does it?  Could it be 6 whole months since you left?  I mean, on facebook it was just only one year ago that we were throwing your Tshirt party and we really formed #TeamAr… and you were right there fighting and we were right there beside you.  We were so optimistic—all of us. 

6 months is a long time, but not in comparison to what’s ahead.  Because 6 months ago is the last time I saw you and it doesn’t feel like it was that long, but it could be a VERY VERY long time until I can see you again.  Just thinking of that fact makes me feel so sad.  Gotta wait a really long time.  And waiting a long time is so much harder, I think, when you really love a person and just wish you could see them every day.  It makes me so grateful for the signs you send, and when you can visit me in my dreams, and all the beautiful pictures of you and our family that I can look at and cherish.

It kinda hit me yesterday for some reason, before Bailey ever called.  They say grief has stages and for a long while I thought I was just bouncing back and forth on all of them like a bunch of trampolines stuck next to one another, not really on a schedule but hitting all the stops on a regular basis.  I’ll let Bailey tell her own story, but when she called last night it was apparent that we were both kinda on the same page and having the same types of feelings… so now I’m wondering if we’re all syncing up on the schedule or if it was just a coincidence that she had a lot of the same things to say that I was thinking about.  Grief is hard to figure out, but there are a lot of truths in the literature.  Most of all, and most hard to understand in the beginning, is that you can’t do anything except go through it.  You can’t skip it, you can’t avoid it—it’s happening whether you think you're actively participating or not.

I try not to dwell on it, because I know that you’re healthy and not suffering at all, and human earthly emotions are silly.  They're just something temporary that we have to deal with until the thing that happens after life on earth.  I know you don’t have the anxieties we have here, or the pain or sadness, so that’s also comforting.  I can’t really control the feelings I’m having down here, but I can say for sure I’ve identified my anticipation to see you again.  My excitement for another hug, another conversation, another laugh.  And that’s something I’ll hold on to, as well as the memories and the guidance you've given me along the way.  And sometimes reliving the memories and imagining how you would help me out in situations like this makes it almost as if you were still here.

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