Saturday, October 1, 2022

Getting Busy Being Happy

 Grief is a queer thing....

I can honestly say that I've only really truly grieved a handful of times. I've been very fortunate in that regard so far in my life. Sure, I've had some pretty major emotional pain, but not what I would describe as pure grief - there's usually other emotions wrapped up in there. Relief. A tinge of sweetness perhaps. But true grief, real grief - it's different. 

I would describe grief as an endless chasm: a bottomless, aching pit in the depth of your soul. You know with some ancient wisdom that if you tip toe too close to the edge you will be lost, plummeting into the darkness forever like Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole. And so you carefully sidle your way around the edges like Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger, making sure never to get too close. And for the most part you succeed in smoothing those edges enough that you become familiar with the route around. 

But every so often, and often when you least expect it, you slip a little too close. A smell. A photo. A memory. Something starts to draw you towards the centre of that deep dark hole. Sometimes you even allow yourself to stand right on the precipice just long enough to remind yourself of the black terribleness that is there. You cannot truly numb yourself to it, not really. You can carve a safe journey around it through platitudes and pat responses, sometimes even with jokes. It doesn't take much to veer too close though. Something scratches at that very very deep wound and you find your breath is stolen again, like a punch to the gut that occasionally recurs without warning and without mercy. 

Today I told a friend that I am working really hard on just being happy. It is a very strange thing for me to honestly say that I am content, and yet here I am. For the first time in my life I would be perfectly content if the rest of my life went on in this direction. Then this afternoon I was sitting talking to my father in law when memories of my baby boy flooded my mind and I confessed to him that not a day goes by without me missing him. Every. Single. Day. 

Sometimes it's just me walking straight into the laundry without negotiating a baby gate and litter tray. Sometimes it's sitting out in the outdoor area next to the pot he is buried in, stroking the leaves and talking to him. Sometimes it's wearing my big chunky pink jumper and looking at all the threads he pulled with those claws. And sometimes when I emerge from my room first thing in the morning I swear I hear his velvet paws thump onto the tiled loungeroom floor as he stalks into the kitchen to give me his 'morning report'. 

My life is going really really well right now. Better than I think it ever has been. I just wish he was here to enjoy it with me. No matter how busy being happy I get, I'll never not miss you bud. 



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