Yesterday started out like any other Sunday. But half way through church I was sobbing in the seventh row. Something triggered within me and I was so upset we had to walk out. I wanted nothing more than to hop in the car and head to Oakmead Drive where my mom would be smiling in the door way, spatula in hand making us breakfast. We would sit out back on the swing and watch the kids play. That's what I needed and what I wanted, but none of it was possible any longer. Some days I feel like I've got this grief thing under control. Others I wonder to myself "has it really hit me she's died?" as crazy as that may sound.
What I realized yesterday is the back and forth, the up and down of grief is a very, real, thing. It's painful and unexpected. It physically hurts in ways I never imagined.
So we did the next best thing, loaded up the kids and drove to my inlaws. It was cozy and familiar, and I needed to be anywhere but home. There I painted and I read, and I asked the kids if I could photograph them. They obliged, as if knowing it's what my cracked heart needed that day.
And it helped. And from it came a series of images I can't wait to see in print.
Grief, you suck, but you won't consume me.