The Wall

I have heard grief described as waves in the ocean, elevators, rubberband balls, and roller coasters. It is all those things at once.

Grief isn’t just an analogy. It is raw. It is ruthless. It is reckless. It is my temporary reality.

Grief is crying seeing the walls where you made them dirty. I can see the marks where your fingers left streaks. We have never had clean walls. In fact, when I picked paint out for the house it was the kind that was easy to clean. You always wiped whatever was on your hands along the wall. Now it is an artistic masterpiece, and I never want to wash that wall again.

Grief is crying because Steve brought home bundt cakes and I knew you would have loved this new flavor. They are lemon flavored with blackberry filling. I would have mashed it up and added pudding. You would have squealed with excitement and eaten every last bite. How you loved food. Life is now used to and would have.

Grief is making your baby brother’s sandwich for lunch and forgetting to put the turkey, so the poor child ate a cheese and mayonnaise sandwich for lunch. It robs me of the ability to perform the simplest of tasks.

Grief is being exhausted even though I had two cups of coffee and have done nothing exerting yet. It changes the definition of exerting and some days sitting up might as well be a marathon. It is sleeping at night only with the help of medication.

Grief is searching the home for pieces of you still here, some evidence other than my memory.

She always comes too soon and leaves much too late. She is rude.

Grief is good at making me let go too though. Perhaps the carrying of it makes me drop other things I should not have carried so long anyway. Unforgiveness, resentment, petty differences are too burdensome. Grief monopolizes my ability to carry.

There is an odd kindness to her. She would not be here had the love not existed. The love you created and received is proportional to her weight and as of now, it is too heavy to bear. But “they” promise me as I learn to carry it, the load changes. The indomitable truth is that your love, both given and received, will never lose weight. Even as grief fades, your love will always exist. Love wins.

It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it. (Lou Holtz)

Sweet boy, I am hoping to learn to carry it. I will make you proud. But first, I have to remember to put turkey in your brother’s sandwich.