Processing Grief

Today is Monday, the first day of the week and the second day of December. It's hard to believe it is December already. David died in October. How could that already be almost two months ago? Time is the strangest thing: on one hand it feels like those two months were an eternity ago. On the other, David's memory is so alive in my mind that it feels like we just spoke yesterday.

David would be nearing the end of his semester at the University of Minnesota. Otherwise, if he decided not to continue with his program he would be job searching. Maybe he would have already found a job by now. Who knows?

I still catch myself hanging on to the hope of David's return. Anything is possible, right? I snap myself back to reality with the memory of saying goodbye to David's physical body. That memory feels fake, like I really really didn't live it.

I've been thinking of so many things: suicide, depression, death, afterlife, etc. My mind works on overload, processing and reprocessing details, ideas, and questions.

Today was the first morning that I woke up and my first thought was not the heart-wrenching memory that David is gone. This morning, my alarm went off and I was searching for excuses to stay in bed and hide from the chilly morning. I'm not sure how many minutes went by until I thought of David, probably not too many. I wonder if this will continue. Maybe over time, the once instantaneous memory, will become triggered after minutes, then hours. How will my grief change over time?

I feel conflicted about this. I want to hold on to my grief as it's the way that I am able to hold on to David.

One Sunday in mass the priest explained that grieving is our mind's way to form a more concrete, living memory of the person that we lost. By going through each memory you share with that person and experiencing the painful sorrow of your loss, you create a more clear image of that person and relationship.

I really like this explanation of grief and I feel its truth in my own life.

I miss David for all that he was, and all that he was to be. I miss our times together, and wish I could re-live every one and savor each moment. I wish I would have discussed more about the future with him so that I could feel his guidance now.

With the recent tornadoes in Illinois, I thought of analogy. David's depression began as a cloud, but it quickly became darker and darker. The storm began and the wind picked up. David was sucked up in a tornado and taken away. All who love David were also picked up, only we were spit back out. We were thrown out of this storm with our physical houses un-damaged, but our emotional and spiritual homes leveled to the ground. We know we need to rebuild, as other storms could come our way. We need to heal.

The dilemma is rebuilding in a way that leaves a space for David.