Grief is Weird

Grief is weird. 

And messy.

And strange.

It messes with my mind.

Sigh...

I have, for So. Many. Years (like well before you came along) needed to be exact in my schedules and scheduling. Before you were born, we had multiple kids in multiple activities, and few if any drivers besides myself. And after you were born, I had to arrange nursing, or make sure I had enough oxygen and other supplies, plus battery power to last however long we were gone. 

Not anymore.

Last Saturday we went to Cedar City for Joseph's concert, and we decided about mid-day what time we were leaving.

Today we had Matthew's graduation and decided at 1 pm what time we needed to be leaving.  

Tonight, we finally came up with a time to leave tomorrow for Sarah's graduation in Cedar and the reason we had to determine that is because Mary has been asking for a week what time we're picking her up. 

I just can't seem to create plans that involve timing. 

I only worked a half day today because Matthew graduated from BYU this afternoon. I figured that would be awesome, and it was! 

But first I had to drive home. Maybe it was the rain, maybe the song that came on. I don't know, but I started crying again. I actually don't cry every day on the way home anymore, but today I did.

I remembered when Matthew graduated from Lone Peak and the look of utter joy on his face. You often wore the same smile and glow, and I miss it.

Tonight we celebrated him and the rest. And when the main speaker talked about all those who were supporting the graduates, those in attendance, those watching remotely, and those who were watching even more remotely from heaven, I fought back more tears. 

Aaron, you graduated too, but I didn't get to make you a candy bar lei. Instead, I chose your burial clothes and your casket, and dressed you one last time. 

Grief is weird.

“Here is the thing about my grief:

It’s like a very messy room in a house

where the electricity has gone out.”

— Monica Hesse