Like every one else on the planet, I’m drinking all the hot cocoa + watching This Is Us (via DVR) and Christmas movies all fall. Fa la la’ pass me another tissue. And brownie.
Anyways, I caught up to This Is Us moments ago. Discovering, yet again, how relatable their wreckage is. And I think it’s that way for everyone. FOR SO SO MANY,
This (really) Is Us
Let me preface this post by saying life is normal right now. It is, It’s good. I love where we are as a family more than any of the words I string along are capable of proving. I’ve found a groove for myself and our crew. I’ve breathed in these sweet moments with my littles, as if they were my last. I’ve caught myself trying to still an image of their laughter or my husbands touch like a keepsake of memories. I dont want to miss a thing. I want it all documented. And that includes my heart- who I am and where I am today, so they can forever see the struggle but too, the hope of JESUS in a way they aren’t totally privy to now. I’ve discovered new passions in this season that I intend to unfold in due time. So again, I AM happy.
This Is, REAL.
And yet here I am, in this moment, paralyzed by a bolt. You know, sometimes I compare grief to waves or storms because I can sense it. I KNOW it’s coming. Don’t you? The rythmic ebb and flow of the wave- leaving us, returning, leaving, returning. We’re customized; each of us in our own patterns of grief. But the point is, the rhythm prepares us for the powerful rush ahead..the same is true for the storm cloud. Off in the distance, we see darkness. As the light dims, we prepare.
In this part of the journey, I know and expect the ground to rattle beneath me and understand my triggers. I’ve learned the pattern of the wave and the power of the storm. And in time, I’ve transformed.
This Is Raw.
Fast forward to this moment: finished the latest episode: I.was.not.prepared. Looking back it makes sense of course…but to see Kevin so destroyed. I couldn’t. Electricity might as well have shot through my body. I watched him sink deeper through the obvious paralleled lens. Its crushing. The world is at his fingers, he could DO ANYTHING, a good life rests just on the horizon but his own heart isn’t healing. Wounds are mounting atop one another and his depression is unseen. He’s self-medicating, still breaking, all the while… spiraling. Drifting. But he keeps it together just enough that the world doesn’t see.
This Is Grief.
Next episode: we see a glimpse of Kate, in the middle of miscarriage. Yeah. So while I could probably steer myself from revisiting the trauma- I’ll probably wait for my house to fall asleep next Tuesday and curl up with wine and chocolate. And tissues. WHY?
This Is Me