Grief is a funny thing

Grief is a funny thing.  It never goes away, it doesn't really lessen over time, you just make room for it.  You learn how to carry it.  You form a different relationship with it.  But it still never ceases to catch you off guard.  Sometimes there are moments where you anticipate being overcome with sadness, and you find yourself amazingly okay and centered.  Then other times when you thought you really had it together, the waves of grief come crashing down and rip the emotional wounds right open again.

I have entered exactly one post here since Dawn died three years ago today, since I poured out my heart in this space the day after her passing.  I've thought about it, things have arisen that I'd like to record and remember.  My kids are ridiculous and fantastic and I want to remember all of the wonderful moments they give.  That's why I started writing here to begin with.  But I've avoided coming here because of that chronically "something's missing" feeling.  The feeling that nothing has been completely right in the world since my best friend left it.  Recording life in this space just hadn't felt right without Dawn in it.

Yet life moves on.  The earth continues to spin, we grow, we change, and time passes.  And the shape of grief changes and evolves too.  Instead of the constant acute stabbing, it becomes more of a tacit emptiness.  One that's largely benign, but on days like this the edges of that emptiness are more palpable and sharp.

Overall I live each day the way I feel like Dawn would want me to.  And occasionally in direct opposition to that because I know it would annoy her and that makes me giggle.  But sometimes whether you like it or not, grief is a cantankerous bitch that rolls in with a gut check.  In those moments I envision Dawn saying suck it up and "shut your face-hole" (those were her famous last words to me you know).  And that makes it all better because damn she was funny.  I miss our outbursts and shenanigans.   It's stupid that she's not here for any more of them.

However, I'm fairly certain she would support this one, I call it "take your dead best friend to work day":

I assume anyone reading this knows that yes, that's cremated-Dawn in the Barbie lunchbox (or half anyway, Jason and I went halfsies on Dawn and his Dawn is in a way more sensible container).  

We had humor in life together, it makes absolute sense to have it in death too.  Even though I can hear her response "Duuuuuuuude, you can't take me to work in a lunchbox, inappropriate".  Which of course would certainly lead to me doing exactly just that.

Though Dawn-box has had many adventures over the past three years:

And that's how we shake off the tough days and sadness of grief.  Carrying on the ridiculous spirit of fun and spontaneity and unabashed joy in life.  Because if you're not going to make each day vibrant and meaningful,  you might as well shut your face-hole.