Life Lessons on Grief

What have I learned as a result of my Mali’s death in April?  The simplest answer is nothing and more than I wanted to learn.

Primarily, I learned a lot about primal Celia. Operating on a very basic level with my day to day. Survival mode.

You have to eat.  Even if it’s something small. Most days I spend at least part of my day in a state of confusion and detachment. It’s exhausting and without eating something you can slip farther into the chasm you are already in. The conscious act of intake of nourishment forces me to be conscious of what I am doing, even for a little while.

Exercise. It takes you out of your brain. You again have to be semi cognitive to physically move for an extended period of time, chewing bubblegum and walking.  Walking until your feet ache and muscles you didn’t know you had hurt coupled with breathing makes you focus on something other than the fact you life is derailed.  Your former purpose has been chucked out the window like a tosspot.

Its ok to not be ok. Wearing a happy mask is lame. It doesn’t fool anyone and it’s exhausting. Asking for help sucks but it is also a reminder you are human.

Mind numbing activities such as excessive drinking only make it worse when you wake up the next day. The hangover is not worth the extra aggravation on top of you are still incredibly heartbroken and it hasn’t gone away.

Lean on your friends.  You know who loves you and will still be standing by your side while you rant, rave, curse, and cry.

Lean on the people who are walking the same road you find yourself on.  They are examples that you can live through the trauma of child loss.  The feelings I am having are not unique and someone has been there already.

Go to work and or establish a new routine. After Mali died, I moved to a different desk at work, changed the car I drive, cut my hair amongst the other things that no one really needs to hear about because face it. I am on the high side of 40 and boring.

There will be no more babies being made by my barren womb or lack thereof.  Responsibilities haven’t gone away.  We are drive by empty nesters.  The bills still have to be paid, eventually you have to go to the store.  Chore still need doing  Blah, Blah Blah ad nauseum.

I have no clue what life is going to deal out.  I honestly don’t care about the future of anything.  I am trying to just get by.  Maybe that will change with the New Year




Merry Christmas

Side note  I am a faithful practicing Catholic and my title was way out of order  I was referring to the materialism and secularism that has driven a wedge between love of Our Lord and the true meaning of Christmas  if I have offended anyone please excuse me.

Not sure if I have ever mentioned this mask thing I have going on sucks. That face you put on, fake smile, fake perky attitude is nothing but a huge fucking facade.

Christmas has been a test in how long I can hold that stupid fucking face. Knowing in my heart is the worst part. I know I’m being fake.  I can’t stand myself.

I tried very hard to show my children this year that life goes on and you can still be in awe of the holy season.  A person can function and go through the motions.  You can still be a family.

Unfortunately that missing person is the pink elephant in the room.   The emptiness and heaviness of our hearts is the loudest thing in the room.

So I raise a glass to you my sweet Mali. My duck. You will always be young and beautiful. I miss you so much I can’t even begin to put the words together. What I do know is that thin thread that tied you to me and me to you is still there. Someday it will lead me home to you.



Fog and The Things In It

We bought a Christmas wreath for Miss Mali. It sits on a stand by her niche in the mausoleum. I decided to decorate it. I put a few ornaments and a string of tiny LED lights. It’s the only decoration I have done for the holiday.

The wreath is already dry and crumbling. The needles drop to the floor with the slightest touch.

It reminded me of her short life, once vibrant and beautiful. Now, fading like the remnants of what was hers.  Her clothing and room no longer smell of her. The joy when she would enter a room is gone. I can’t hear her laughter anymore. She is fading.

Life is so short. Such a cliche. I suppose after 8 months moving on is the direction I should be going. I want to say I am in certain aspects. I seem to be at a crossroads. One foot in the past one in the present.

The world did not stop moving.

The season with its changes, the cold, the Advent, impending Christmas are overwhelming to me. I am merely a watcher. I am still waiting for her

Does a heart grow back after losing a child?  I am guessing the original grows a great amount of scar tissue. Rope like bands of cicatricial tissue that give very little stretch.

Reflecting on my own life leaves me at a crossroads as well.  My instinct is to run like hell.  Get as far away from this pain as I can.  Find a new life.

I am not sure what I am doing most days. I stand my ground.  I am fighting for my life now.  It’s a quiet fight.  The longing to follow her is not as loud as it was.  If I concentrate, I can breathe without despair.  The fog is still here however.  I hope the light I know and have faith in is on the other side of the tule.


Won’t Say Goodbye

I took a long walk on Ocean Beach in the Outer Sunset today. The churning waves of my blue pacific greeted me as she always does with cold water and a cold breeze.

Six months ago I sprinkled a small vial of my Mali’s ashes down at the foot of Taravel and the Great Highway.  Paddling her out to a soft part of the Pacific and letting that small part of her go.

It’s December now. I pay homage to the beauty and graceful soul she was. Collecting sand dollars that have washed up it hit me. That beautiful creature is gone. For a long while my heart breaks all over again.

That bitter cruel reality of her loss washed over me like the waves do. I can’t breathe.  For a moment the idea of slipping into the water and letting go of me crosses my mind.

All my hopes for the future with her are gone.  She is gone.  She is gone.  She is gone.

This last week has been spent reflecting on my life of the past and looking at the door to a future I really have no inclination of opening.  I know it’s there, that heavy door and I can accept that.  I am just not ready to open it and cross the threshold.

Mali, if you can hear me, I love you and I miss you.  This is a shitty hand and I am going to have to fold.  There are always other hands to be dealt, but, for now I am going to hang on to these cards and take you with me wherever I go.