it’s definitely a journey. It’s a constant reminder that even though I’m the Queen of Procrastination that I like things to be done on a schedule. I NEED things to be done on a schedule. I must control the schedule! HA!!!! That’s not how grief works. I remember thinking around the time of Kevin’s death “How long will it take things to get back to normal?” I was clueless. Absolutely clueless. My life in the snow-globe may seem normal from the outside but once it’s been shaken it’s never, ever the same. I wish that snow-globe wasn’t shaken quite so often. It’s hardly had time for the snow to settle before it’s picked back up and given a twirl. Every single time it’s disrupted I’ve learned something though. Sometimes about myself, friends, family, love, hope and disappointment. Always, and I mean always, do I grow a little stronger in my faith. It’s complicated but oh so very simple at the same time. I can’t do this without depending on Heavenly guidance. 

My Daddy was AWESOME. I can’t begin to explain how much he meant (means) to me. What’s odd to me recently is I seem to be fixated on the 1 time he broke his promise to me. It was November 19, 2001. We were standing on the church steps about to walk down the aisle for the Kevin’s funeral. He promised me that he’d get me through it all. I will say that he did everything he could to make sure I was alright. I was just starting to get my feet back under me when he died. That’s a blow that I haven’t recovered from. I’m not sure that I ever will. I do know that life had to keep going. So somehow I got back up and started trudging along. There were my 2 boys and Moma to think about and keep focused on. They needed things to be as normal as possible. So 18 years ago I sorta boxed up my troubles and shoved them aside to be dealt with later. 

If you could see the attic in the house I grew up in you’d understand more of what I’m talking about. We save everything. There are boxes, decoys, clothes (a certain yellow dress comes to mind), toys, a full stand of fishing nets, furniture, even Moma & Daddy’s china from their wedding registry. It’s all there. Mostly forgotten but taking up precious storage space. That’s like where my grief is. It’s packed in a box with other life events all piled together taking up space inside me. If you’ve ever used a box to move you’ll relate to this…when that box gets wet and heavy you soon have a problem. Boxes aren’t made to last forever.  Sometimes when the box breaks you get “lucky” and there wasn’t anything of real value inside. But you still hung on to it for a reason. But that box could also hold some fine and valuable treasures. Maybe it’s labeled. Maybe it’s marked fragile. Maybe it’s half empty.  There are a lot of maybes.  

What I’ve learned recently is I need to stop adding to my box. It’s too full. The packaging isn’t made to hold but so much and I have overfilled it. I’ve been blessed with an amazing family. We love and laugh like no other.  But those bonds that make us so incredibly happy and connected during life can bring a deep sadness and an unbreachable void with each passing death. The past 6 months have been TOUGH. Cancer took Aunt Julie in December and Uncle Scott in June. There’s no way to recover from those blows in what you might consider a “normal” time for grieving. Those were 2 more life events that I’ve added to my box I call “someday”.  I’ve also added a few things from my friends because let’s face it we share each other’s burdens. I can’t do it for them but their pain causes me pain. Sunday I added the mystery of a missing hen. That may sound unrelated but her disappearance may well be what has completely overloaded my box.  

From time to time I have to do some deeper soul searching, a mental health physical of sorts. I’ve gotten fairly good at not letting someone else’s mental health deteriorate mine. I’m also really good at building walls to keep people at a distance.  Deflect, avoid and denial are my strongest coping skills (I didn’t say they were the healthiest.) I use humor and sarcasm to mask what I’m feeling. Sometimes I’m funny. Sometimes I’m just mean. If you ask how I am…expect to hear “I’m fine.” Hard to tell if that’s the truth or a lie…there’s a fine line there. I hold a lot of stuff in. Not because it’s too painful to talk about but honestly I have trust issues that keep me from opening up. I can’t be betrayed if I don’t share. It’s been said by someone I loved dearly that “Iris is incapable of a deep, meaningful conversation.” That stung. The old adage the truth hurts came out in that one. I am in fact capable of those conversations but I’d much rather avoid them. 

If you’ve stuck with me this long then you deserve to now what’s gotten me so stirred up.  July 13, 2004.  The day my Daddy died.  That grief journey that I’m on hits a major milestone each year on 7/13. Some years it passes by rather quickly and painlessly. This year I’ve begun to dread it more than ever. It’s probably because I’ve overloaded that “Someday” box and realize that I might need to face a few of those items sooner rather than later. The thing is I will but I really don’t want to. Somedays it feels awfully lonely on this journey.  It’s not.  Everywhere I look I see someone else having to face it as well.  There are kindred spirits all around. Finding the right ears to tell my story has been part of my healing process. I’m a long way from being back to what I would consider “normal” but I’m so much further along this journey than I ever thought possible. 

If you can help someone unload or unpack their boxes….do it. Please don’t intentionally overload theirs. I know a few of you reading this will want to help me with mine. I appreciate the offer I really, really do. Instead tell me about the boring part of your workday, how your Moma burnt the sausages, the joys of packing up your kid for college, send me a picture or tell me a story. Share your journey through what you think is the most insignificant part of your routine. I crave that sort of normal. 

6 responses to “Grief”

  1. Iris, you have such a gift for writing and I always am inspired and moved (usually to tears it seems) by reading your words.

    I was thinking of you and your daddy earlier today and also of how much loss you and your family have endured…I say endured because you haven’t given up, you’ve kept going because that’s what our faith compels us to do: run the race set before us, knowing we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses (an ever growing group) who are waiting to see us cross the finish line and grab hold of our prize (eternal reward).

    Today I made egg custards again for Mama. That’s one of those ordinary things we do when people are physically down. I know your Moma made them for Julie; my Mama has made hundreds too as her mother did before her. Just trying to take care of others. So, could I bring you an egg custard? It won’t cure your broken heart nor put an end to your grief, but maybe there’s a custard cup waiting to be filled somewhere in your box.
    Love you so much!


    1. I will not deny you that simple act of love. Sharing comfort food isn’t just a Southern thing…it’s scriptural. We share our meals as a body of believers. BUT if sharing the custard means 1 less moment spent with your Moma then I couldn’t possibly enjoy it.
      We won’t just finish this race, we’ll finish strong. I love you and that big Ole family of yours too.


  2. Tasha Gervais Avatar
    Tasha Gervais

    Love this heartfelt post. “Share your journey through what you think is the most insignificant part of your routine.”
    Okay well that I can do. I have washed applesauce out of Emelia’s hair not once, but twice today. And lately I find myself saying new things each day; sentences I don’t recall ever saying before. “Don’t put your face in there.” “You don’t need to take a bite out of every apple in the house.” “We can’t get inside the dryer.” “Stop poking the cat in the butt.” But the phrase I say most frequently is probably “I love you.” I guess when it comes down to it, that’s about the best thing we can be doing.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh those things we never thought we’d have to say!! I should have written them down while you and the boys were little. Such great memories!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m with you in spirit every step , I’ve been there emptying out 50 years of memories, I don’t think our grief for our parents ever go away no matter how many years but I will tell you my box is also full dear friend. Keep being the most beautiful person God intended on you to be your great at it !! ❣️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It really is an interesting journey, especially when we can slow down and appreciate those little moments that became big memories. I love your mountain stream pictures. You can go back to the same place over and over and it never looks quite the same. ❤ you!

      Liked by 1 person

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