Hello, and welcome to my blog. Today marks 9 Thursdays, since losing my dad, best friend, and best person I’ve ever know. I have spent the last few weeks pondering the idea of a grief blog. The idea stemmed from a way to express my grief through words because I have been a writer my whole life and I’ve found expression through words comes easier than talking out loud. My dad also loved my writing and so often times writing makes me feel closer to him. But it wasn’t until I randomly would open up on social media about the raw reality of my grief, that I realized I wasn’t alone during the worst time of my life. Unfortunately, anyone who has experienced loss, I can relate to in more ways than those who have not. It’s just how it is. We think we could envision how much someone is hurting who has lost somebody, but only until we’ve felt that loss, do we actually comprehend.
So, I’ve spent the last few days thinking of the right topic for my first blog. Then I realized, how do you pick the “right topic” for something so awful? Something so detrimental, life shattering, and so heartbreaking? You simply can’t. This blog is going to be raw. And by raw I mean, the ugly truth, unfiltered, anything goes, and I plan to be vulnerable.
Someone asked about the physical part of grief. I almost wanted to write something more “safe,” or less emotional you could say. But then I realized why would I do that? This is WHY I started a blog. To talk about the things no one else from the outside world understands, or knows how to talk about. This blog is a place to not be embarrassed, or not want to say something because you’re afraid no one will get it. I honestly feel like the physical part of grief, is a very raw part of grief that is often not understood by those not grieving. For me, it’s been so prevalent. Sure, I could say, “It hurts, a lot.” But what does that FEEL like? What does that even mean?
For me, I think the physical part of grief happened long before the actual day I lost my dad. I call this pre grief.
I know some readers out there have experienced “pre grief” in many ways…some their pre grief may have been drawn out for weeks, months, maybe even years. For some it may have been sudden, without even a chance to know what was happening. For some this may also differ in your own personal ways. For me, looking back, I think I always knew I’d lose my dad during my young adult years, as he was more elderly. But what I did not expect was when it happened, and I also never knew how debilitating it would be. I thought I had at least 5-6 more years. When my dad got sick, I got another 4 and a half weeks with him.
During the first 2 weeks, I think I went into survival mode for him. I was his medical power of attorney, and I was on autopilot while he was in the hospital. When my dad went home, I thought we had made it. We were out of the hospital, he was doing better, and I thought we had begun the long road to recovery. It was not until about 5 days later, I realized how wrong I was, and I began to grieve.
I vaguely remember writing about grieving when I realized the reality of what was to come, I even made a grief playlist, and the unbearable thought of losing my dad consumed every bone in my body. I actually wrote down in a journal what I was feeling during this time: hyper aware of noise, headache all the time, stomach hurt from not eating so I’d eat just enough to make it stop screaming at me, but then I’d get nauseous from doing so, every joint hurt, every muscle was screaming, and insomnia like I’ve never experienced because sleep meant less time with my dad.
During those 4 and a half weeks, my body had been hit physically by pre grief in ways I didn’t know possible. I essentially lived in a hospital chair at first, then around the clock in his home. I quit working, my diet was crap when I even remembered to eat, sleep was close to nonexistent, recovery wasn’t in my vocabulary, my already poor health ceased to matter, the back pain I felt was excruciating yet numbing at the same time, and I often felt dizzy or in fog. But again, autopilot was my only gear and I don’t think I realized what was happening until some of my close friends asked me if I was sleeping, if I was eating, and told me they were worried about me. But again, I did not care. Nothing mattered but being with my dad, and doing everything I could to be the best daughter, efficient medical power of attorney, and keep my head afloat for him.
And then, when my body was functioning on about 1-3 hours (broken up here and there) of sleep a night, I had lost close to 9lbs, handfuls of hair came out in the shower, my eyes now sunken in, and I was in a constant haze…grief swept in like a thief on the evening of April 11, 2019…and took over my entire body.
I do not remember the next week, except that the legalities and necessary steps following a loss, are devastating to me. Necessary yes, but cruel. I wish I could say the days following I was able to mourn with my family, rest, reminisce. But for my family, that simply wasn’t in the books. The next week of packing things up, legalities, funeral homes, decisions, nightmares, flashbacks, and heartbreak are a blur that continued my physical part of grief. Somehow, 9 days later, I showed up in Fairbanks, AK leaving my life of the last 10 years in New Mexico, behind me.
The last 9 weeks have been a blur also. Here is what grief feels like to me now:
Some days, I am okay. In fact, my boyfriend makes sure not a day goes by I don’t smile. In the beginning, it felt painful to smile. But thanks to my family, friends, and boyfriend, I do in fact smile on a semi regular basis. I laugh, too. I am able to workout, most of the time. I wake up and go to work much to my dismay. But not a day goes by I don’t think about my dad. Honesty, I am not even sure a second goes by as my subconscious is constantly thinking about him. I get a lot of headaches. My hair still falls out in the shower, and I do my best to cover up my bald spots. Sometimes I binge eat, which has caused a weight gain, and other times I can’t eat at all. At night I am exhausted, but sleep is the last thing my brain will let me do. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. My memory doesn’t feel sharp. It’s hard to focus during a conversation sometimes. Weightlifting, something that is a part of me, hurts in ways I’ve never felt. And lately, I often feel like there is a weight vest on my lungs, causing breathing to no longer become a subconscious thing but rather something I have to think about doing. I also go through days of not crying, then days of nothing but crying. Also, my anxiety is out the roof.
Yet somehow, in this mess of physical grief, I am expected to go on. I must go to work, I have to wake up each morning, and I need to do things like brush my teeth. I am living each day in a mystery tornado, never knowing when it will hit me.
Now, let me make something clear. A lot of people have asked how I am able to talk about this so soon. And my immediate thought is, “I am not talking about, I can’t.” Because I honestly can’t talk about it out loud. It makes me sick to my stomach and doesn’t feel like me talking. So as I am typing this, with tears in my eyes, my stomach in knots, and anxiety weighing heavily on me, I hope those reading this don’t think this is easy. It is hard. It is disgusting. It is depressing. It doesn’t feel real. But this is the reality of grief.
So what I ask of you, readers, is to share with me your pain, grieve with me, and know we are all in this together. Because you all know, that despite all of this being said, we wake up each morning, and sometimes have to mask all of these physical symptoms, to simply make it through the day. Or maybe, just to make it 10 minutes before breaking down. It’s heartbreaking. But I often think of you all, and thank you all for being a support system I never knew I had. When I don’t want to wake up, I think of how many others out there are hurting too. That brings my strength. So, I appreciate you all taking the time to read my first blog, and if just one person read this and thinks to themselves, “Wow, I am not alone,” then my job here is done for tonight.
Grief, Giving Up, & Going On Club 