Wave on Wave

Grief.

Five letters. So many different ways it can express itself and grief has so many friends who like to join the party - there are the usual seven - shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing and acceptance.

But also crashing into your brain in wave on wave are sadness, exhaustion, anger, loneliness, euphoria, frustration, anxiety, confusion, blame, guilt, numbness, helplessness, shame, irritation, avoidance, fear, hope and so many more - enough emotions to turn you to the dark side.

For me the grief began when the caregiving began. The feeling of loss began while Lil Bit is still here.

She may still be there, but she isn't there there.

She's still my Momma, but now I am the parent.

It has felt like we are in the longest winter ever no matter how hot it is outside or what time the sun sets.

As the world continued to invert itself, the grief hit.

Crashing down on me.

Grief for what would be the eventual loss of my mother.

I have mourned her like she was well and truly gone, dead, but she is still here and needs help.

But I have also felt the littler waves crashing over me. The waves of grief for the loss of everything that has been missed, cancelled or put on hold while caring for Lil Bit.

I have drowned in the waves. Lost myself in the surf of grief. Been pulled under by a rip tide of emotions. Screamed aloud to only find my mouth filled with the salty tears from my ocean of grief.

The waves have hit at the best times possible and the worst times ever.

When I made the decision to sign Lil Bit up for Hospice (As Nike would say Just Do It. It's not giving up. It's getting much needed help for both of you.) I decided to go ahead and pre-arrange and pay for her cremation.

I looked at it as marking another thing off the list, checking the box, marking the task done. Made the call. Set the appointment. Drive to the appointment.

Make it like a business errand. My plan was to be businesslike and efficient - others might call it cold and bitchy - but I didn't have time for grief.

I told them what I wanted, declined an expensive casket, heard about the beyond stupid way that Oklahoma law makes you do it. The folks at the crematorium were incredibly kind and patient. I'm guessing they have seen it all.

Would you like an urn?

That's an easy question...I want her to have the same one as her sister. Boom. Done.

I then pulled out my checkbook to pay and the wave that had been racing towards the shore picked up speed and then crashed down on me.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

No, I couldn't have started crying like a normal person, I had to start laughing.

And not just a giggle.

I'm talking about a full on laughing fit that had me gasping for air, slapping the desk and making everyone in the crematorium incredibly uncomfortable.

Laughing at the irony and the absurdity of what all had transpired in my life in the last few years, months, weeks and days.

Soon I was crying from my laughter and the nice gentleman who was helping me (who had gotten up silently to shut the door) put his hand on my shoulder and said "take as long as you need son and don't be embarrassed - we've seen it all. I'll take laughter over the screaming and wailing any day of the week."

We've seen it all. Four words that conveyed so much.

Grief hits us all so differently. I can't tell you dear caregiver how it will hit you, but what I can tell you is that it will hit.

And when it does surrender to it.

Feel it.

Really.

You can't stop it.

Process it.

Talk about it.

Get help.

Or the waves just might carry you out to sea.

And believe me you don't want to be lost in that ocean.