Grief

No one wants to have to talk about grieving. You hear "bottling it up isn't healthy" and "you have to trust the process", which honestly, are phrases I would say to those experiencing grief before the word entered my vocabulary.

There aren't many times in your adult life when you truly experience a feeling for the first time. There's something beautiful that comes out of grief. It's a feeling so powerful, so dense and heavy, it feels like you're in quicksand; the panic of trying to escape but if you move too fast you'll sink to your own untimely death.

My mom passed away about a month and a half ago. Throughout my time getting to know grief, I've felt a range of emotions. Those of anger, joy, and sadness, and while each of these emotions are so commonly regarded, there's a new essence they bring with them. Anger feels harsher, full of jealousy and envy of those who have everyone they love and I don't. Joy has lingering anxiety and fear that there's a storm brewing nearby. Sadness feels like a flash flood, ready to tear down the new construction you've built since the last natural disaster.

I never thought I'd be someone who lost their mom too soon. I've always had a sense of entitlement regarding the assumed in life. The assumption was my mom would be there on my wedding day, she would meet my kids, and be here to celebrate milestones. There's a feeling that can only be explained as earth-shattering when you find out the assumption is hardly ever the case. It just depends on whether you rebuild the ground you once walked on, or if you decide to live in a shattered earth, in suspense of disaster rather than hopefulness for the future. The choice is ours to make.