I got in the car Thursday after a funeral. We drove toward Tennessee, I kept busy, then I kept quiet, I didn’t sleep, I wrote, 6 hours passed. I finally slept, I woke up, I wrote, I got a call about another relative whose time is short, I got myself strawberry milk because I loved it when I was little. We drove to Kentucky, it rained, I didn’t sleep, I cried, for my cousins, for how often we take time for granted, for people I love who are lost, I cried because love is powerful and humble, unassuming and strong and faithful.
There are times someone else’s pain is too present to speak of. It’s tender and can’t be touched with a pen. Be afraid to write it down. Grief should not be mocked. - DC
Everybody processes differently, we all have our own ways of grieving, the ripples are different, the coping is different. Sometimes it’s in writing, sometimes driving, sometimes it’s laying very still or thrashing against everything, sometimes coping is not talking, talking too much, or drinking too much, or staying busy until we allow it to sink in. There is no wrong way, there is safety in being allowed to face things in our own way, it’s the right way. This week though I saw a living example of a loving, faith filled, wife mourning, not as those who have no hope… She has hope. It’s something to hold on to. It’s something to live for.
"A funeral is a place where all kinds of awkwardness is allowed.
Understand, I am not making light, I’m allowing that it’s heavy.
Facing death is the place where it’s okay to be afraid of things…
What you have, what you’ve lost, what you haven’t, what you don’t have…
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