We made it past another anniversary. I’m not sure if that’s the right word choice, anniversary. We made it through seven years of living after Hunter died. This was more mentally consuming than the grief on the day of the anniversary, December 4th. On that day, I gave myself permission to cry and really feel the pain of losing him. It’s not like I’m always suppressing my grief, but… well, I have to suppress it in order to survive.

I couldn’t suppress my tears in the early days (defined as the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth years). When they came, I couldn’t stop them. It sucked. Seriously, it totally sucked. I remember the first July 4 holiday that Hunter wasn’t here, and I simply could not stop crying. I laid on the couch on the screen porch and cried and slept all day long, all beautiful, sunny, gorgeous. It is physically exhausting to miss someone so much. I do understand how people give up on life after losing their child. I wanted to… I couldn’t stand the pain.

And, yes, I got through it. I tried very hard to teach myself that the tears would eventually stop and the pain would eventually stop, if only momentarily. I also taught myself to suck it up when I could. Not always. But, sometimes, it’s a valuable skill set to pull your shit together. This is most useful in group settings. I think my expiration time (the amount of time I could spend with a group of even very loving people) was fifteen minutes. Seriously. That’s it.

So, if you’re in the beginning of your grief, it does get better. Well, it can get better. But it’s a long, bumpy road. Seven years out – it’s better. But fuck (those two words together always make me chuckle), it’s an arduous path to be on. 

Ingrid

December 17, 2023
Seven years and thirteen days