Where's the Grief?

If you can't tell by the title, this is going to be a rant purely about grief. Dad passed away two months ago on April 9th. Heart attack. I woke up that Saturday morning he died to a car alarm going off. Later on, my coworker Kathleen asked me if the banshee had come to tell me, and I remembered the alarm and realized it had... He's gone. I can't really wrap my head around it. The moment I start to, I just feel angry and cheated and sad, frustrated, and terrified and drained, which comes before or/and after I'm numb and tired and happy and energetic and ambitious and ...it's like I'm experiencing a wealth of these extreme, down-to-my-bones emotions that I've never experienced before. I can only compare it to having those hormones I had when I was in high school, except I handle things completely differently now and my maturity helps. Yet occasionally I find myself having emotional moments in an inappropriate setting (i.e. work, or at a happy event), and I just try not to let it get too out-of-hand (Sidenote: When I am in that moment, typically started by nothing but my own mind, I really really want to punch someone in the face a la M'Lynn in Steel Magnolias). So, it becomes obvious that I don't have the tools to cope. Yet...I don't know anyone who does. I think that must be where the extreme frustration comes in. Grasping non-stop without actually taking hold of anything. What's appropriate in this situation? I want the answer to be "everything." I want to be able to act out and have someone explain that it's OK, my dad died. But that's not going to happen. I think many people see me as someone who makes jokes through everything, and as a person with lots of gusto, so I must be handling things okay. And no, I don't want to be treated with white gloves all the time, but yeah, sometimes I do. Sometimes I need some extra love and don't know how to ask. If I see you, I might give you ten hugs for no fucking reason. Hugs are better than slugs to the face, so I hope you appreciate them for at least that much. The process of grief is not only difficult for me, but also for those friends around me who don't know what to say. Some don't say much at all, others ask all the time. There might be a happy medium, but I'm not holding it against those who don't know what that means. I don't think I knew what it meant before this either... So to those friends who have sent or will send me "I'm sorry I haven't been there" messages-- The world can't stop because one big shiny light went out, even though I wanted it to, because no matter how much I dig in my heels, it just keeps on spinning...

There's a poem in a book of 100 Great American Poets that my Granny gave my dad one year for Christmas. It's the Ella Wheeler Wilcox poem, Solitude. I used to think, "Wow, this is beautiful, and horrifyingly cynical," and now I read it and see it in a new light. You cannot take anyone with you in grief. It is something you must go through by yourself, and not because there aren't empathetic or sympathetic friends there who want to help, but because it is so personal. That's the fact of the matter. This is also a comment on an overall human reaction to devastation. Apparently she wrote it after meeting a grieving widow, and she was devastated for her, and angry that she was so HELPLESS to take away that pain.

SOLITUDE by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Fortunately, sadness doesn't have to be despair. And some people still help and brighten my day just by saying hello and being genuine. When my dad died, it created a hole in me that the wind will always blow through. It will never really close. But I am still here. I can talk about non-death-related things, and I can joke and be a shell of who you're used to me being, but also know that my mind is muggy and exhausted because that's what grief does. So, that's where I am and I am where my grief is. It's currently a large part of me and I'm embracing it. So, embrace me! Thank you all.