Reasons I Cry

I cry a lot. I cry when I'm happy, sad, angry, and afraid.
I cry a lot for her. For a host of reasons. And I've decided to start documenting those reasons.

Today I cried at work. I cried because I am sad that I didn't unwrap her. Although I looked at her fingers and toes, like most parents, I didn't look at her whole body. And I wish I could go back in time just to see all of her. I'd do everything over again, just for that.

I thought of that today randomly while sitting at my desk. That's grief. It's random. And it's an asshole.

Still Standing

http://stillstandingmag.com/2014/01/balance/

Forgot to post this. Life has been crazy.

Dude, February...

How the hell did you get here?
Please be kind. And gentle if you can.


I'll try not to blink. And maybe write some more.

xoxo

J

Scrooge.

The holidays suck.  I said it. They suck. From Halloween to New Year’s Day. There is just no better way to say it. ‘Tis the season, right?
But if you’re grieving, this season brings much more than costumes and Christmas trees.   It brings a great deal of reflection and pain and sadness and a host of other emotions.  I’d like to think I’ve come to terms with that. So now, my job is to try to make it suck less. I was recently asked about ideas for surviving the holiday season in grief, to which my response was simply “Vodka.”
I was half joking, but only half joking.  Because you know what? If vodka works, go for it. If doing the big family gatherings helps, do it. If it makes things worse, stay home. Host Thanksgiving if you want. Boycott the turkey all together if that works. Put up a tree, if you’d like. Be a scrooge if you need to.  
Whatever helps you survive is okay. No matter what that may be. It’s simply about survival. And I think we need to grant ourselves permission to do whatever works.

If I am still breathing, not institutionalized, not incarcerated and halfway functional come January 2^nd – I have succeeded. And that…is good enough for me.

Last year was my first Christmas after Jocelyn died. It should have been her first. It was terrible. I bought some toys for a family in need. Money I would have spent on her. I ordered an ornament for our tree. I hung it tearfully and thought of my sweet girl. She had a stocking on our mantle. It remained empty.

I did things to try to lessen the blow of Christmas without my daughter. Some days it helped. Other days, not so much.

This year, I haven’t done any of that. It’s just where I’m at. I can’t find her stocking. And that’s okay. I put the tree up because my son deserves that. I hung her ornament. I didn’t buy a new one. I’ve bailed on shopping with my family, and ordered everything online instead. From my bed. In my pajamas. And it was wonderful. Because that’s what I needed. 
I’m planning to do Christmas at home and keep it low key. And if I change my mind a dozen times in the next few weeks, so be it.  If anyone takes issue with what I need to do in order to survive, let them.

‘Tis the season for survival mode. And I’m in it.

Still standing

http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/12/change/?utm_source=feedblitz&utm_medium=FeedBlitzRss&utm_campaign=stillstandingmagazine

Still Standing

I am so honored and humbled and excited to be writing for Still Standing Magazine. Check it out.

http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/11/grief-box/

Blah

Today really sucked. It started almost immediately when I woke up. The familiar knot in my stomach. The dreadful lump in my throat. The heaviness in my chest. I looked at the clock as my brain started running through the possible scenarios and excuses that could buy me a day in bed. I rolled over and hugged my pillow tightly. As if to protest life and the coming day. I made myself get up eventually. But it didn't get better. I simply pushed through each task mindlessly. Up. Coffee.  Cereal. Makeup. Clothes. Lunch. Keys. Bye. 

It followed me to work. I cried on the way. The facade of happy, streaming down my face. Fresh with mascara and salt. Physical proof of my pain. Kind of nice actually, to see something tangible in my tears. 

I walked into work with a deep breath. Grateful to have an office where I could sit in silence. With my light off and my lamp on, the only sound was coffee brewing and music playing softly. Thank god for those mornings. I surely needed it today. But I felt no better. I was just glad to have a peaceful place in which to feel like shit. Between the emails and the meetings, the lump returned. Through everything, the knot remained. I thought of her with every passing moment. Finally the clock shed some mercy on me and the day ended. 

I cried again. I like to cry in my car. Not the wailing, hyperventilating, ugly cry. Those are best suited for the bed or shower or pretty much anywhere other than behind the wheel. But the calm, effortless cry. Where tears fall freely and with solid conviction. I stopped at the cemetery on my way home. I sat by her grave. And then I went home, where my two lives collide. The life that is and the one that should be. I cook dinner. One less plate. I hug my son. One less child. We watch his show. No sibling argues. He goes to bed. A lone goodnight kiss. 

Now I'm in bed. This day is done. It was awful. But I did it. And I survived it. And that makes this awful day, also kind of amazing. 

Come on tomorrow, please be gentle.