Wednesday, August 14, 2013


Crash.  That's about it really.  Or as they say in grief group...a grief spike.  Yay.  I feel like I am back at the beginning again.  How is that possible?  I couldn't stop crying today.  I cried around the house, I went and sat in the shop and cried, I put my ring back on and cried, then I took it off again  and cried.  Every time I spoke to anyone I cried. Everything overwhelmed me, getting gas, getting the truck inspected, shopping at the market. I hate this house, I love this house.  God.  Help.  Me. 

Maybe I am working up to September 2, his birthday.  Or the 7th, the six month anniversary of his death.  It does seem to work that way.  As if preparing myself for a big day will someone make it easier.  My old belief system at work.  If I can just be really really well prepared I can handle anything.  As some of my friends like to say, "how's that working for you?"  Not too well. 

Several times this week I could've sworn I saw him walking toward me, getting in a car. That hadn't happened to me yet, I thought maybe it wouldn't, but it did.  What a strange and heart-wrenching feeling.

Just keep breathing.  It's just a wave coming in. In the way of waves, it will go out again.  Leaving new smooth sand in it's wake. I can do this.


  1. Afterlife
    by Bruce Snider

    I wake to leafless vines and muddy fields,
    patches of standing water. His pocketknife

    waits in my dresser drawer, still able to gut fish.
    I pick up his green shirt, put it on for the fourth day

    in a row. Outside, the rusty nail he hammered
    catches me, leaves its stain on everything.

    The temperature drops, the whole shore
    filling with him: his dented chew can, waders,

    the cattails kinked, bowing their distress.
    At the pier, I use his old pliers to ready the line:

    fatheads, darters, a blood worm jig. Today, the lake’s
    one truth is hardness. When the trout bite,

    I pull the serviceable things glistening into air.

    xo, K

  2. I am going to try leaving a post here; I'm not on my regular computer, so we'll see if it takes.

    Anyway....I wish I had something profound or comforting to say. Aaack. Your grief spike sounds "normal," but I doubt that makes it much easier to bear. I do love the wave analogy.