To Simply Show Up (When You're Not In The Spirit)

 

Dear Grandma,

I woke up this morning.

I am breathing.

I am feeling the aches and pains related to the drop in temperature.

I paused so many times in my morning routine, but I eventually got going.

For the past few days (no, even longer, well over a month), the phrase, "Simply show up" has been a whisper in my dreams before I open my eyes. That is what I have been attempting to do since November.

I sit here wondering if checking out (not literally but emotionally) would have been easier.

I spent last month getting myself ready. I was trying to manifest all the courage, positivity, and determination to show up for the tribe. We were having company and I was doing the best I could to show up as the lighter me while feeling heavy.

The incident (I now deep the Sassy Southern Stereotype Saga) took so much out of me.

Yes, there is a crossroads over the swiftness of action and how it was handled.

Yet, it went deeper. I spent all of the week being at my most vulnerable, and truthfully when that happened, it made me regret doing so and being so.

I haven't fully reset. It has nothing to do with external forces but the turmoil it caused within.

A shattering ... yeah, that's the closest description that makes sense.

Even this month, I have "shown up".

From going to work holiday gatherings to donning Christmas colors and sweaters, I have tried to manifest the cheer and joy to match my festive looks. I even visited the stores for cards, stockings, and gifts, believing the trips could unite a spark.

My response to Christmas music has been to switch the station or put in my earbuds to block out the melodies. I can't bear them ... not this year. 

For me, Christmas has never been about gifts. Grandma, you know I have never been one to throw a tantrum about a gift I never received.

Christmas has always been about warmth and togetherness.

You and Grandpa were that warmth. Just hearing your voices and being near your energies meant everything. I did not want for anything.

It stopped feeling like Christmas with Grandpa's passing. Each year after his death, we would speak about him to elevate our spirits. 

Then you left.

I have no close family members with whom to share our memories.

This is the month Mom is consumed with Junior's loss; she is absent and unavailable. I have shed all the tears over a healthy bond that may never be.

Everyone else has their extended families and traditions, and like you, Grandma, I've never been one to rain on a joyous parade. 

The countdown to Christmas is on, and I cannot predict my countenance.

I have one more day of work, then off until the 27th.

Jazz works all week.

Gino has the adult day program for most of the week, except for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Who (in my immediate circle) would have the time to spare for the nostalgia? Apart from the Creator?

Showing up ... perhaps it may not be enough this year ... but it is the best I can do at the moment.

Happy Heavenly Upcoming Christmas to you and Grandpa.

Miss you.

❤️

Pouring Until Empty

 

Dear Grandma,

Last night, I had a dream about your ritual on my birthday. By ritual, I mean, you calling to sing "Happy Birthday" and then passing the phone on to Grandpa to send his brief but heartfelt sentiments. Then, in his fashion, he would pass the phone over to you and we would chat. The length of the conversation varied, but you would always call.

If you did not call, then you would send a birthday card. When Grandpa was living, he'd always tuck something in the card.

I woke up with your voice lingering, and I couldn't sit with Jazz and be one hundred percent present. I longed to be on the other side of the line. Not to where it would generate worry, but I wanted to re-experience the joy and happiness I felt to be cherished, appreciated, and poured into.

The realization that I would (more than likely) not experience such a high level of appreciation gave me heaviness in my heart. I was reminded of the punctures in my heart.

No matter how many memories kept it beating, the reality of your and Grandpa's absences would disrupt the rhythm and/or just make it stop.

I hesitated in expressing this. It is autopilot for me to carry the heavier emotions. I've learned it's unhealthy for me to continuously carry emotional weight, but it's become more complicated than being vulnerable and transparent. Many questions fire off in my brain in milliseconds:

• Who should I express this to?
• Is this person in a space to be receptive?
• Will this person discount what I'm saying?
• Will this person take offense?
• Will this person try to go tit for tat on who has the greatest amount of trauma happening?
• Will I receive the generic response of "it's going to be okay"?
• Or the standard, "Don't cry", "Come on, you're better than this", and "You're strong; no need for all that crying"?

Even typing this, it's maddening to go through this cycle of questioning before feeling safe enough to speak.

After deciding that I wanted to express these thoughts, they tumbled out, along with the tears, which had already spilled during my mental gymnastics.

Verbally expressing my emotions never seems as streamlined as when I write them out. There are digressions, and expansions on the digressions, but I try to get back to the core.

The multiple takeaways are:

I miss you.

I miss Grandpa.

It hurts that Mom hasn't stepped up to be the mom she said she wanted to be for me (for whatever reason). Yes, this is magical thinking.

(Sigh ... Chalk it up to remnants of the little girl who optimistically believed it's unnatural for a mother not to want the best bond with her daughter.)

At times, being of service isn't enough.

I pour into others that do not pour into me with the same exuberance. Those people who solely took from me are no longer in my circle ... most of them, you warned me about.

The ones who remain ... who truly care about me ... it's difficult for me to express this.

What can I say? When you are used to not being seen or heard, it feels like magical thinking to expect a different outcome.

There are moments when I could do with a few more hugs and words of affirmation, even though they are on the lower end of my five love languages.

To know whom to get the aforementioned from, along with not feeling awkward about being the recipient of these things, is a struggle for me.

I want life spoken into me, especially those rare moments when life feels harder than death. 

The latter is one of those days.

I visualize things I may want to do or have, but your loss makes these things hazy. Your birthday melody and your voice made the start of the day brighter and the end of the day incomplete.

How can brightness still exist in a world where you are gone? Where Grandpa is gone?

I'm still seeking that brightness. 

I'm currently poured out.

Before, I would somehow turn air into liquid and continue to pour.

Now, I have to simply say, "I don't have it."

Every moment, day, and hour feels too long to take things as they come. It all comes too fast, and I'm swimming against the tide of my anguish.

Today ...  I'm just not okay.

I love you.

💓