Lean in to the Grief

Grief sucks.

There. I said it. Nothing redeeming at the moment whatsoever.



This is where I sit, and I have no interest in painting this flavor of pain in rosy, generous, or uplifting hues.

March, April, May, I was a roll-with-it sort of girl.

Now it’s September, and I’m wilted, dark, and depressed.

I DO know it will all get better, but to be quite frank, I need to wallow.

I’m tired of having the Polly Positive conversations, despite the truth in the words.

“We are blessed.”

“We are fortunate.”

“It could be so much worse.”

Again. All true. We are. We are. And yes, it could be, but you know what? Pain is relative, and by Jesse, we can hold opposing emotions simultaneously. I’m grateful; this sucks.

Right now I am drowning, and I don’t have much interest in focusing on the good, so please fuck off if you refuse to allow me such sentiments.

My house is crushing me.

Gil and I are consciously uncoupling, and I’d like to throw his ass through the living room window.

I’d currently give my right arm for a place of my own.

Fuck all this togetherness.

And yes, I know the kids are growing up too fast and that I will miss this. Hold the sauce on that side of guilt.



Who is with me?

Do you ever just need to rant TO exit the cesspool?

Yes? Well I’m your girl.

Allow me to lead by example:

Avert your eyes if you need positivity. Some days I’m there as well; I get it, but today I need to plunge.

My days currently begin around 2:30 in the morning. I drive to the warehouse of a shipping company where I am currently employed so I can obtain decent insurance.


I’ve been working at said shipping company since last October and I’ve yet to obtain this fucking insurance that said company speaks so highly of and that said company advertises to lure plenty of deserving and hopeful folks.

“You have to be employed for nine months.”

“Yes, I was. July 19 was my nine month anniversary.”

“Oh… we’ll check and get back to you.”

“We checked. Your hire date does NOT included Peak season. Your actual accrued time with the company did not begin until January 13, 2020.”

“So what you’re saying is that the three months that I worked fifty plus hours a week were just for shits and giggles?”

“Yes, that’s what we are saying. We are so glad you decided to stay on with our company. Opportunity awaits, and we value you and look forward to guiding you on your career path of choice.”

“I want to come to work, do my job, go home, and get my mother-fucking health insurance. That’s it. That’s the only opportunity I am remotely interested in. I actually hate you, and I really hate this company. I quit faking orgasms a long time ago, and I will NOT fake enthusiasm for your company’s bullshit. I will see you on October 13 when my health insurance kicks in, ya rat bastard.”

Obviously the majority of that convo happened in my head, but you get the idea.

My job sucks. All the middle managers suck, and I’m only there for the health insurance. I wish I could convey this all more eloquently. Oh well. Perhaps another day.


Yesterday my saving grace was that I was able to leave that stupid job that I really hate at 8 am because Mondays are early days. Yay for tiny blessings!

I got to my car, checked my phone and learned that my sweet friend’s precious 7yo son has a brain tumor. He’s been in remission for exactly two months. It sucks. She’s devastated, exhausted, all the things, but she must be strong because she does not have any other choice.

Life is one heartbreak after the next.

Is there beauty in heartbreak?


Today is not the day we showcase that beauty. Today we mourn and cry and claw the walls and ask how a loving God can exist in the face of such tragedy. Is God with my friend? Of course, but we are not ready to focus on that.

Today we shout and cry and ask WHYYYYYYYY??????!!!!! For we are human and we ache.

It is not right or fair or just, and I need to sit in the sadness and feel all the fucking hurt. My friend mourns, and though I am thousands of miles away, I will do the same. Don’t even think of robbing us our sorrow and disenchantment. We WILL rise, but not today.

I drive home. I cry. The sun shines but all I see is gray.

My favorite park flashes by on my right. It always lifts my spirits… Today it does not. Today, all I see is death, injustice, tragedy.

Less than two weeks ago a two-year-old drowned in the beautiful pond. Will we ever know the whole story?

It’s doubtful.

The child was with his sitter and his two siblings. They were on a walk. He is no more.

Life is grief.

Grief happens and happens and happens. Dear GODS will it ever get easier? Today, I think not.

Pandemic depression is loud, high, and mighty. In this pit, I fear I’ll never again feel whole.

Depression sneaks up on you like an extra five pounds. Wait… that wasn’t here yesterday now was it?

You’re trucking along, secretly high-fiving yourself for managing so well, and then BAM.

The leaves are brown.

The sky is gray.

Sleep for days sounds stellar.

How did I miss all the signs?

And for me and perhaps other survivors who’ve lost loved ones to suicide, we ask, is this how it was for him?

I hear the voices tirelessly striving to provide comfort.

“He wasn’t in his right mind.”

“He didn’t know what he was doing.”

Yet. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am lucid. I AM in my right mind. I have no suicidal idealization, but it wouldn’t hurt my feelings to go to sleep and not wake up.

The brightest lights are only gray.

Laughter is muffled.

All happy is muted.

Characters perform and I stare blankly as the colors fade and the music disappears.

All motion is slow. Stunted. There is no speed at all.

I watch but fail to see. There is life but I can not reach it. There is dancing but no participation. I can reach it now, but to touch it is impossible.

I’m lower than low but it feels so good to not pretend.

Feel it all.

This is hard.

Death. Isolation. The children. The unknown.

Sleep beckons and for now I must answer the call.

Tomorrow is a new day, and we will try again.

6 thoughts on “Lean in to the Grief

  1. Thank you for laying it all out there – hope you feel heard and seen and hope that helps. You’re right – there’s no magic wand to “fix” it, so the only option is to “lean in” as you say.

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  2. A year ago today I got my own place… to separate and try to unconsciously uncouple from my husband… I renewed my lease… and we are about to have a baby in a month… all the feels here… so far things are going better than expected… as far as co parenting our older two children and soon to be third… but I have my days of grief, guilt for wanting this, and sadness that I’m about to face some hard times with the husband once this baby gets here. (I’ll do everything in my power to make our lives a happy co parenting family… but I know there’s gonna be those shit days). 😬

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