“It gets easier.” “Just give it some time, you’ll see.” “You’ll get through it.” “Time heals all wounds.” “She is at peace now.” “At least she is no longer suffering.” “She is at home with God now.” “Everything will be okay.”
How many times in your life have you lost something and heard one of the above phrases? Because I have lost count. It doesn’t get easier. You just learn to live with the pain and the emptiness like it’s been a piece of you all along. It has become your best friend and your biggest enemy. I will not “get through this” and time cannot heal all wounds. Grieving is not a clear-cut process. And you know what? I am not even sure if it is a process. A process is something that has an end. It has steps. It has answers.
Hi, my name is Kylie. I am a 26 year old plagued with anxiety and depression. I get shit done because I have to. I don’t know what I am doing half the time. And I am in a constant state of grief.
Do not tell me my mom or my grandmother or my aunts or my uncles aren’t suffering when everything is so fresh and new and raw and open. You are not helping. I am aware of every doctor’s appointment. Of every hospital stay. Of every tear. Of every second of suffering. You don’t get to tell me shit. Everything is not okay, and you know what? That’s okay. Nothing will ever feel right or okay when there is a big, gaping hole in someone’s life where someone used to be. It’s not supposed to. That place where they fit was filled with unconditional love like no other. It was filled with laughter and tears. It was filled with adventures and breaking the rules. It was filled with holidays and family dinners. It was filled with everything I will never get back. And that’s how it’s supposed to be.
I am coming up on my second Christmas without my mom. Things have improved in the way that I am not crying at work every day leading up to a holiday. Or that at Thanksgiving I didn’t want to just go home after fifteen minutes. But easier? No. Because I have had almost another 365 days of things that I wished I could have shared with her. John and I were both promoted this year. We bought a house. We have another little family member joining the Munroe clan. We adopted a dog. There were more moments this year where my hand shot for my phone to call her only to realize I couldn’t.
I find that she speaks to me more now. I hear that little voice inside my head when I am having a tough day. I hear her advice. There were a few moments this year that happened that let me know she was still around. I still get mad at myself sometimes. I still have regrets about not seeing it sooner. I should’ve seen how tired she was. I still get mad at her sometimes. I get mad at the world. At whatever is out there. There are days I don’t want to get out of bed. Days I cry in my car to and from work.
Then I have the days where I am laughing until I cry and my stomach hurts. Days I wake up smiling. Moments that I wouldn’t trade for the world with people I wouldn’t trade for the world. I have a solid group that I surround myself with and I couldn’t be more thankful. So here is to the ones who stand by us. The ones who keep you grounded. The ones that can make you laugh when you’re in the middle of sobbing. The ones that recognized the pain and sent more love your way to remind you, you’re not alone. Thanks 2018, but I think I’m ready for what is going to happen next. I think Mom and Gram can’t wait to see what 2019 has in store for me.