The Bad Days

They tell me grief is a process. There are good days, and there are bad days. Today was a bad day. The only reason I didn't spend it crying in the bathroom at work is because I am getting over a summer cold and I didn't want to wreck my sinuses.

The day started out well enough. I was happy to return to work after two fever-plagued days in 100 degree weather. My inbox was full, of course, which meant I was busy, and that's G-R-E-A-T, because it takes my mind off of things. A friend headed to my neglected cabin with his dump truck to clean up the pile of ant-infested plywood that prevents me from doing anything out there, including visiting. I even did a little plotting on that survival novel during lunch.

No sooner had I swallowed my kale salad when the butt fell out of my day. The friend called to say the plywood remains infested--severely infested--despite two treatments by an exterminator. So, now, we were both having terrible days, although to be fair, mine didn't include ant bites. He did what he could, bless him, but the project is abandoned until I can come up with Plan B.

I--wearing my big girl pants, with a bag of diatomaceous earth or a flame thrower--just might be Plan B. Grief leaves widows two choices: fold, or figure it out. I'm not in the habit of folding, in case you haven't noticed. I've figured out more things in the past month than I ever imagined I could. On one hand, I'm super proud of myself for doing so. On the other, I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally. No challenge is met without a flood of tears. The problems presented are things he could solve--did solve, when he was here. Now, they're mine. Mine alone. And I can't even tell him about them. And there's still nowhere to go with the love I have for him. It follows me around, a second shadow, nearly tangible, even in pure darkness.

Of course, today would be the day I met not one, but two women enduring fresh grief. I can't solve my own problems, but I can help solve theirs. Doing so brought me great joy. Getting yelled at by a client did not. Sparring with a Medicare representative? Also did not.

Then the skies opened up and made the drive home ridiculous.

Worst of all, his urn arrived. His freaking urn. It cost way more than I should have spent, but man. Look at it. It's beautiful--too beautiful to bury. Just like him.

Isaiah 41:10

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Celtic Urn