Wednesday’s hump was sizable. I revised the About page on the blog. It is normally not a noteworthy endeavor but as happens when you avoid doing something, everything is that much weightier when you finally get around to it.
I haven’t been inspired to make any notes from The Middle lately. It’s been more fun to stay in the made up worlds of creative writing. But Tuesday I noticed a lot of biographical details crept into the eight minutes. Of course. It’s May. For eight days it’s been a daily barrage of messages to “tell your mother how much you love her”. I haven’t been able to do that for seven years. This is the first year I can’t do that for my grandmother either. It’s only been three months since she passed but it was time to edit the reference to her on my About page. So I did that.
After all this time, I am versed enough to know that grief has no pattern. You will not be delivered from it’s hold on a set date. There is no due date. Gestation is infinite. Time passes and you grow accustomed to the weight, sometimes not feeling it all. But it will sucker punch you at the oddest and inopportune moments, like a spoiled second cousin playing punch buggy long after the car ride is over. It’s used to being the center of attention, even if it has to suck the life out of the room. And then the moment passes. It packs up and disappears down the road until the next family holiday or calendar event.
Wednesday’s hump might have been a little more manageable if Father’s Day wasn’t lying in wait. The old one-two. June will be the first anniversary of dad’s death. But I’m getting ahead of myself, which is pointless, I know you can’t out run grief. Like all things in life, it’s best to take it moment to moment.
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