Tell me how 8 years has passed?
Tell me how 8 years ago right now (615am) I was waiting for the last of the people to come be a part of his death.
Tell me how, after 8 years, it still seems as surreal as it did the moment it was happening?
I’ve distracted myself fairly well this year. Worked a shit-tonne of overtime, went and had major surgery on the 24th. I’m post op day 2.
But the tears are still just behind the surface. They are a constant threat today and I’ve only been awake for a couple hours.
I miss him. I miss his steadfast, calm ways. I miss his laugh. I miss his passion for fishing and the environment.
I don’t have a lot to say today, it’s a quiet sort of grief. It’s a “curl up on the couch, drink coffee, watch sad movies and crochet” kind of grief.
I wrote this post 4 months after he died. And today, I sit, with 4 stab sites in my belly, and stitches where my cervix used to be (are there stitches? I forgot to ask. I imagine they’re dissolveable if they exist) and there’s a distinct physical pain distracting me from the emotional pain.
It works, yo.
But don’t do it on your own. Find healthy pains to make the emotional pain go away. Go for a long walk. A hike. Lift weights. Garden. Lift heavy things. Rearrange your furniture.
Physical pain helps with the emotional pain.
I tell ya though. I could do without the gas pain. The gas pain sucks.
The grief sucks just as much.
Mark W. Smith
May 18, 1963 – June 26, 2012.