Overcome Grief: Journaling Towards My New Beginning Part One
To help others overcome grief, one of the most powerful things we can share as grievers is our story.
I want to share mine.
To do this, I am going to publish a series of blog posts about me and my relationship with my mom. This is my first post.
These posts consist of memories both past and present, random thoughts, basically a brain dump of the things I needed to get out of my head in order to help overcome grief.
If you’re interested in learning more about how I came to write these, visit my guest blog posts on Alison’s notebook!
Read to the very end, because next, I want to hear and share YOUR story.
I went to the country to process my grief after 12 years of unresolved grief.
My primary medium was writing.
That’s how I express myself.
Here is the start of my story…
I packed up what feels like my entire childhood, drove through Burger King for some French toast sticks, blasted some Celine Dion and Matchbox 20, and continued off into to the country.
I’m almost a Gilmore Girl.
At the moment, I feel like Lorelei Gilmore in A Year in the Life going on her “Wild” journey.
I guess this is my version of that.
Leaving my husband and almost 2-year-old daughter at home for the weekend to go to New Ulm Texas where there isn’t even a grocery store.
After almost a year of therapy, and a shit ton of revelations about my personal life, it was finally time to get away.
To embrace the one relationship that is so painful to embrace.
The one relationship that I can’t believe I’m living without in my adult life.
As long as I can remember, we sang in the car.
We sang like there was no tomorrow.
That’s what I did on the hour and a half car ride to the country.
I didn’t understand the lyrics to the songs then… I just loved them because she loved them.
I memorized them to be closer to her.
While some of our drives were complex and emotional with fights and tears, the majority of them were happy and full of love and togetherness.
It was our time to just be us.
Without distractions, without other people judging us, without usual worries of adulthood and childhood.
It was an escape.
I still love driving. It doesn’t matter where I’m going or who I’m with.
When I’m in a car, good memories are made.
Warm-and-fuzzies are born.
I didn’t think I was going to be able to do this, to write about our relationship.
My mind and heart have been so overwhelmed with trying to express who we were.
My whole life revolved around you.
The biggest rock, pillar, stone in my life.
You still are, somehow… but I don’t know how it works without you here.
Twelve years later and I still don’t know how to navigate my life without you and yet sometimes I think you’re navigating it for me.
Telling me where to go and how to get there.
Making sure I don’t fall too hard along the way.
Your presence is strong and I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that before.
I didn’t want to.
I didn’t know how to.
It makes me so happy and so broken at the same time.
I just want to be with you again, in the flesh.
I lost my best friend.
An irreplaceable one.
When I look at pictures of you in high school, well before my existence, I sometimes feel like I was there with you.
I’m not sure if this is because of how much you loved Switzerland and shared it with me, or if it’s because I feel that close of a connection to you.
Love has been the key ingredient in our relationship.
I know that now.
I didn’t know that then.
I always thought I was going to be different.
That I was only going to pass on the good things and be nothing like you.
I’m everything like you. Good and bad.
And I’m so humbled and happy to have that.
You shared your love of travel.
You shared the small things that keep people happy.
You had fun.
You didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, but I know you probably were.
You passed on your love for certain things like baking, and singing, and music, and games.
You taught me how to be passionate.
How to live and choose a path and bring that passion with you.
I lost my path, but I’m finally finding my trail again.
I know now that you sacrificed your passion to raise me.
You sacrificed a lot.
I am eternally grateful for that.
I know it must have been hard.
I can’t imagine raising a daughter on my own.
I wish you could meet mine.
You would love her so much and she would love you just as much in return.
She is the sweetest little girl.
I hope I was too.
I hope that I didn’t give you too hard of a time growing up.
I know that at times I probably did.
You probably wanted to kill me.
But I hope there was more good than bad.
What happens next?
This series will consist of four parts!
Our stories are powerful and relatable and help us know that we’re not alone in our grief and that by sharing and working together, we can overcome grief.
Help me share your story!