nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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Grief

I've been doing some thinking about grief lately. Grief is a tricky thing. For some people, sort of like a bad tooth let alone to fester, it hurts like the dickens when it first happens but eventually burrows down to sporadic flare-ups.
For others, it's a constant ache, like an ulcer waiting for that first drop of caffeine or spaghetti sauce.
I fall into the former category. The instances in my life that have caused real and true grief have occurred in my past. I've managed to deal with them, for the most part, and then tuck them away in what probably amounts to a dusty little shoebox in the depths of my heart. Like a small child with a scab, every now and again I open it up, just to see if it still bleeds.
And each year it seeps a little less, no longer a free-flowing stream of pain.
Some of those "snapshots" of my life, however, have sharp edges that can still cut, if I let them. I look at my sons and wonder what my Dad would think of them now. I wonder what sort of relationship they'd have created between them. I wonder what he'd think of ME and the turns my life has taken. I wonder what he'd be like, if he'd have mellowed some as he settled into middle age. I wonder how my lost babies would have fit into the dynamic of my little family. I wonder if they'd have been blonde haired and blue eyed too. I wonder if they'd have been boys, as that seems to be what I help create, or if I'd have had a girl.
I regret the way things ended with my maternal grandmother. Nothing I do will ever stave that ache. I wasn't where I should have been. I didn't know how much that would haunt me. I'm not making that mistake again.
Those are the sharp edges that still bite into me. Those are the places that need more scar tissue.
Grief is a strange thing and it's funny what we will and won't forgive ourselves for.
I think it's probably a healthy thing to revisit it now and again, just as a comparison for things we need to cherish. And like that dusty shoebox of pictures, to set it back in the shadows until we need it again.
***
Happy Friday evening.
N.

8:43 p.m. - 2005-10-07

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