Good grief

Oh Charlie Brown, is grief really good? It's a serious question. Nothing about it seems "good," but it seems to be healthy.

Before my uncle died, I had such a different view of death. It was very naive. Despite the sadness of death, I thought it should be a happy occasion. Going to heaven is a good thing. It is. Yet, what is there to comfort those on earth? Yes, that is what I learned. Death is sad no matter what. It sucks. It's this awful reminder that we live in a sinful world where death is the penalty. Yes, Jesus conquered death, so death is not the end, yet it is to those who are still living and missing whoever died.

I still want a dance party after my funeral. Yet, that cloud of sadness just doesn't dissipate. It lingers. It hovers. So, if the dance party doesn't work out, then it's still required that "Baby got back" by Sir-Mix-A-Lot is played at least once. And that's another thing, death brings about morbid, yet factual thoughts of what is yet to come.

I mean I'm used to feeling sad. I'm an emotional roller coaster. I've gotten better at being steady, but this sadness, this grief, hurts. It's physical and emotional. It's this constant ache, sometimes dull and sometimes pounding. I have moments of relief. I have moments of peace. Then, I have moments of absolute anger and sorrow. I amuse myself by saying "the anger stage of grief really pisses me off."

I don't even know what words to use to describe this AND I'M A WRITER! I'm speechless. I feel lost in a pasture I've never seen before. In faith I wait for my shepherd. I'm so glad He knows where I am, because I don't even feel like I can cry out to Him.

I miss being surrounded by my family. I wish I could just hit pause. How do I reconcile life before my uncle died and life since he has died? I started the month of March thinking it was going to be very stressful because of work. Now, work is the least of my worries. Sure, work is still stressful, but I really don't care. It's a blip on the radar. I'll get the work done. So what if I have 15 kids to test (and that number is hardly an exaggeration).

I appreciate people being supportive, but how do I reach out? Show up teary-eyed on their doorstep? Really?

And you wouldn't believe the conversation I heard yesterday at a coffee shop. This guy is telling his friend how he hasn't done meth since the 23rd--since the day he tried to commit suicide by stabbing himself. A few tears leaked out of my eyes.

I just want to scream. Yet, nothing will bring my uncle back.

Bad grief? Healthy grief? I don't know. I just don't know.