Temporarily Pitching My Tent


For the past 121 days I’ve been playing with 10 pounds. As in my scale moves up and down like a roller coaster between those pounds. I’ll be close again to being 38 pounds down, then I find the scale numbers creeping up again. A mental inventory of what I’ve been eating quickly explains that problem.

One night I sleep really good, the next I wake up and can’t fall back to sleep.

I come home from work, feed the cat, and dive into my latest project. Then the next day I come home, feed the cat (it is tough to forget her because she is in my face until the bowl is filled), and sit there rereading the same pages over and over again but not getting anything to stick mentally.

Some mornings the alarm clock goes off and I am up, make the bed, get ready and spend 30 minutes with God. Others I hit the snooze alarm until there is no time left to do more than shower, dry my hair and bolt out of the door.

120 days ago this was not at all how things went. I ate healthy every single day and the scale showed it. I slept like a downed tree without exception. My time was well scheduled and each project, phone call, book to read, etc. was spot on, never deviating. Every morning I turned off the alarm and was up and getting ready for work.

And then 121 days ago a significant, emotional event turned my world upside down and because I had so very much loved my mom, an uninvited, unwelcome guest moved in with me and turned everything in my life on end.

The guest?

Grief.

39095602_1953870478031800_304423021332922368_nGrief is a twisted bitch. The guest we never invite to the party but crashes the celebration and it never leaves. It is the price we must pay if we love any living being. That part sucks.

Garth Brooks sang the song, “The Dance” and it is a great reminder that to live without the pain of loss, we have to miss the dance of life. I have no regrets in my life’s dance, over all.

So, grief has caused me to pitch a tent of late. I’m not unpacking to live here. No, I don’t need counseling right now and I’m not in need of meds for depression. I’m hurting. I lost the most wonderful person I’ve known, a true angel on earth. And it hurts. It totally f’ing hurts worse than I ever could have imagined. And I’ve known pain, from giving up a child for adoption to being told my marriage to the love of my life was over. Then a woman I thought was my best friend ever, the Thelma to my Louise, turned her back on me, sticking the knife in deep and twisting it. And make no mistake those were deeply painful. But my life knew times before they were a part of it. My life has never known a time in 55 years when my mom was not there. The person I looked up to, wanted to be like, the woman who raised me to be strong, forgiving, and independent. The most giving, caring, wonderful person I’ve ever shared time with and who gave of herself all of the time. My heart and soul are raw, bleeding, and the level of agony defies words.

That 10 pounds? I’ll kick it to the curb soon.

The tent called grief? I’ll pull up the stakes, pile it up and then torch it. Yes the embers will sneak in and burn now and then but it will be okay. Don’t judge me. You have never lived my life, walked in my shoes. There is no time table here, grief is an individual journey. I still cry for the child I gave to a mom with empty arms, still mourn my marriage, still hurt over my former friend. But none of those hold a candle to the soul depth of anguish of losing mom.

As I said, grief is a twisted bitch.

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