Four years.

I imagined at some point writing these posts would somehow get easier. And maybe in some ways it has gotten easier. Or it’s like that grief illustration with the grief button. There’s a button in a jar, and a ball. At first the ball fills the jar, therefore continuously hitting the grief button. As time goes on, the ball gets smaller, meaning the button gets pressed less. But, when hit, the grief comes crashing like a wave.

It’s a classic illustration, and it’s come to mean more as the years have gone by. But man, four years. How has it been that long? Yet in the same time how has it not been longer?

This year for me has been a process of coming to terms with the trauma that is watching someone die. I never could put that name to it. That seemed like too much to label it with.

But that’s what it was - too much. And it remains to be too much at times.

The fun thing with trauma is the flash backs. This time of year the flashbacks hit strong. Yesterday, for example, I was driving somewhere when parts this day four years ago played through my mind. I was just driving when they hit, casually listening to music. Not even thinking about it.

Trauma is a bitch and sadly, many of us know her too well.

Early on in this process I could more easily claim redemption to this narrative. Where as now, it comes through clenched teeth, and a twinge of doubt. Not to say some redemption hasn’t happened. More just to say I can live in reality rather than some forced positivity based on what I think I need to say.

So how am I doing? Well, in all honesty, I don’t know. I’m caught up in a whirlwind of emotions. It’s pure chaos. I managed to slip on some ice and fracture my wrist yesterday. To say I had a breakdown after it happened would be an understatement. I broke down. It was the the literal tipping point of my day - of my week.

Four years. Four years of grief. Of brokenness. Of questions and few answers. Four years of one thing after another. But also, a thread of grace woven ever so slight. I often lose sight of it. But maybe that’s where faith comes into the picture. That small belief that this isn’t it, there’s more life awaiting me. Pages waiting to be written; words sewn together.

Four years and a lot awkwardness later and I miss him. There’s been more times this year where I’ve had an innate desire to text him some of the latest music I’ve discovered. Many times of wondering what he would think of all this, of how the current state of the world would fit into the some of his conspiracy theories.

Four years…

I’ll be honest, this place is uncomfortable. But I’m learning that a lot of this life is just that. Uncomfortable. Awkward. Confusing.

Just as much as it is joyful and enjoyable.

That’s another thing I’m learning. You can be both incredibly devastated while also being excited about something else. And according to my psychologist: that’s normal and also okay.

So, from my weary heart to yours, here’s to continued process. Here’s to the ups and downs.

And here’s to another year of life - may grace only increase, and may healing continue.