Grief, a personal narrative

I wrote this blog a few weeks ago and didn't publish it. I needed time to sit with it before hitting that button. So here is a personal essay for you. I hope if you're working through loss right now, you find comfort and some time to soften your focus.

All my love,
K. Steitz

...
This past week has been pretty intense in my personal life. I'm glad I had a few blog scheduled to go up over the weekend and this week, because my life has been a whirlwind of happenings and feelings, and posting was at the bottom of my list.

You know that feeling you get when you just wake up: the world is in soft focus, you're burrito-ed  in your blankets, maybe a small chihuahua mix who goes by the name of Chicken Nugget is nestled in the crook of your lower back. Everything is quiet and warm and soft.

I relish this moment. I want to live in this soft focus. I know it's not reasonable, but damn, does it feel good. Instead of relishing this moment, this weekend I lost two people. This was just mundane, daily moment of everything coming back into focus. Instead of dealing with this sharpening, I tried to maintain my break-neck speed. I didn't miss practice, I made meals for myself and my family, I went with my mother to her appointments and helped do some meal prep, I picked up my house and cleaned another, I prepared for another round of winter weather, I worked out. I didn't miss a day of work.

But I haven't processed it. I can feel the grief like a wet blanket on my chest. Grieving posts on social media slip through and I catch my breath at my dead friends' names.

I'm using this blog, right in the here and now, to process. I know it's a two sided coin, but in this moment, within the context of my here and now, it feels like life is about thriving through loss. I know there will be loss in my future, because that's just the nature of life. I expected a numbness to come with this loss, but instead I've felt like a raw nerve, exposed to the elements. I need to stop moving and be present with these feelings.

I acknowledge my grief.
I honor our time together.
I honor our imperfections and our light.

There is no craft talk in this post and no poetry. I hope that if you are also experiencing a loss like this (or if you are familiar with those who've passed, and you share this feeling), you have somebody dear to hold. That's my plan, tonight.

In the words of Michelle McNamara,
It's chaos. Be kind.