When Grief becomes Scattered

There are no clouds. The leaves twirl a little dance with the breeze, and the sun relaxes. Summer is long over, but the sun still has some warmth to share with us.
Jake and I drive down the street, on our way to a family gathering, minding our own business. Suddenly, Jake notices something. He pulls the truck over to the side. I'm confused, and look out the window.
A man in work clothes is running. He's in a hurry to get somewhere, so Jake rolls down the window and says, "Hey, do you need a ride somewhere?" The man gratefully smiles, and says, "Yes, thanks man! I'm just down the road!"
"Well, that's where we're headed, so hop on in!" Jake smiles. I move over, allowing the man to sit in the truck.

Jake introduces himself, "I'm Jacob. And this is my wife, Jensen."
The man introduces himself (forgive me sir, I forgot your name) and looks at me and says, "Sorry, what's your name again?"
"It's Jensen," I reiterate.
"Wow, that's a pretty name! You should call your mom and thank her!" The man beams.
My heart drops a little, but my face doesn't change. "Ya, I guess I will," I say.

We chat for about a minute before we get to the end of the road where he needs to be dropped off. He thanks us again, then leaves.

...

Do you want to know what I think is the craziest fact about life?

It is fast and slow at the same time. 

It can stand still.

It can (and does) keep going.

Grief is the same way.

It is fast and slow at the same time.

It can stand still.

It keeps going.

I have a good sized back yard. I remember this summer, before the grass started dying, it was beautiful and green. I loved going out in my bare feet to enjoy the softness of the grass, to feel the sun radiate its warm rays onto my face. I would stand out there for what seemed like forever. Time stood still during those moments.

Eventually, we became busy, and I didn't take care of our backyard as much as I should. I wasn't spending time out there as much. Then one day, I went out to enjoy the sun, and I noticed that the grass had become dry from the lack of moisture. 

And the yard was scattered with dandelions! It was like they just popped out of nowhere! My beautiful green grass was yellow and hard, crunchy even. Yet, these dandelions seemed to thrive! What even! Frustration filled within me, frustration with myself for not taking care of the yard when I should have, and frustrated that the plant that I did not want growing in my yard overrode the plants that I did want growing. I was so focused on those stupid ugly dandelions that I didn't focus on the grass.

Sometimes grief is that way.

Life still goes on, and it's awesome even! Experiences happen, and we learn to be happy again, even though we may have experienced something so tragic.
And especially when we experience tragedy, it may seem like we will never get over it, that we will always be distraught, that we will never heal.
The crazy truth is that we do. We do heal... in a sense.

Sometimes I run into people who have lost family members or friends to death, or experienced something tragic and traumatic in their lives. Maybe someone hurt them. Maybe somebody took advantage of them. Often times, regardless of what happened to the person, the event took place years ago. And I feel for them. Because I get it.

I get that grief never goes away, not entirely. Eventually, it sort of becomes... sporadic. Unexpected.
Scattered.
Sometimes, you're going through your day and it's a good day and there's nothing that you can complain about, and you're happy and you're content, and then suddenly... BOOM! It pops up. Those feelings of missing something. Those feelings of missing someone. And in that moment, it can sometimes grab your heart so hard and so tight, and the next thing you know, you're sitting on your bed, the blankets soaking up the tears. And you can't even explain why.
And other times (like when a stranger tells you that you should call your mom, unaware that you cannot physically call her), when you expect to cry, or you expect to hurt, sometimes you just... don't.

During the following months and even years after my family passed away, I almost felt like I HAD to grieve, and that I HAD to be sad, because moving on would somehow be dishonorable to them, as if I was allowing myself to forget them. I relied on to that grief like a confidant, almost not allowing myself to move on. I knew I could endure the hard things. I could endure life without them. I knew I had to, whether I liked it or not. I knew that I could endure life because of my faith and because of wonderful people who have been the greatest support system for me.

I could endure.
But I could not move on.
I would not move on.
Because in my mind, moving on meant forgetting who they were... are... to me, and who they are to my family, and who they will represent to those who have yet to come to this earth.   

I am coming to realize now that defeats the ENTIRE REASON why I am here... the ENTIRE REASON why YOU are here.
We are here to experience JOY.

THAT'S why as life goes on, it becomes a little bit easier.
THAT's why as life goes on, we can still experience happiness, regardless of our past.
I believe life has been divinely designed to be that way IF we allow it. The choice is ours.
We will experience sorrow, but we will also experience joy. And through life, even among the joy, we may experience "scattered grief."
That's ok. That's normal.
Try not to focus on it.

Don't focus on the "dandelions" of your life.

Focus on the beauty, the things that makes you happy.
You CAN endure.
You CAN move on.
You're allowed to do that.

...

That night, as I was falling asleep, I thought to myself, "Mom, thanks for giving me a pretty name."
I think she heard me.