WatchingTedLasso

I hesitated for more than a heartbeat this morning to come up here and write. To let the keys clickity-clack along and eventually hover over that “Publish” button. To be brave enough to attempt to re-tell the unraveling and share it with the world.

Why?

Because, in the re-telling of the un-raveling there is, naturally, a re-living. And right now, I’d do just about anything other than type through the blur that is tear-filled eyes. To be able to say, “I made it through the darkest part of the night, and now I see the sunrise.” I did make it through. But the sun hasn’t risen, yet.

There is also a mindfulness to the purpose of these essays. To share my experience and provide hope. The unraveling is the antithesis of hope. It is a chasm of hopelessness borne from an avalanche of grief.

But I will share my story. Because my story is not wholly unique. Chances are better than good that if I am going through an unraveling, someone else is too. And I believe, more than putting a sunny face on a cloudy day, that there is strength in numbers. In knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are not alone. I’m here to tell you, you’re not. I’m not, either. So, let’s go, together…

Giving these grief phenomenons names helps me to process them – to take a bit of personal power back. The word unraveling came to me last night, as sleep wouldn’t. In trying to understand and explain what was out of my control…

Way back in 7th grade, I took Home Economics – where we learned how to make biscuits and sew on a button. You know, basic life skills here in the Midwest. Part of my sewing class was a lesson in hemming a garment. We had to stitch it by hand and present it to the teacher for her inspection. Every single one of my attempts unraveled; the frayed edges coming apart, and I would attempt to stitch them back together again. I don’t think I ever passed that particular skill, but the teacher gave me grace to move forward. To this day, I rely on other implements – double-sided tape or a safety pin. Or, maybe even a keyboard.

I described this feeling as being borne from an avalanche of grief. It is that powerful in its unpredictability. It sweeps you up beyond your own agenda and demands you lose your feet. Tumbling along, your body wracked with tears, wondering when, if ever, this will end. To be able to take a cleansing breath, knowing your head is above the storm.

“There is great sorrow where there was once also great love.”, I’ve read somewhere. I haven’t decided in my mind and my heart if that saying brings me comfort, but it does make sense. It is a tiny morsel of logic I can apply to something I struggle to understand. You see, if someone were to ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ during an unraveling, all I can say is, “I just miss him.”

I just miss Charlie. There is no specificity in it. There is no one application of, I miss his voice so maybe I’ll listen to a voicemail on my phone. I. Just. Miss. Him. Like a god damed skipping record. I do not have the power to lift the arm of the record player during the unraveling. I miss him and the tears come. I miss him and I cry myself to sleep. I miss him and I awake with a tissue crumpled next to me. I must have loosened my grip during the blackness of sleep. But still, I miss him.

As I was lying in bed this morning, collecting my thoughts alongside the crumpled tissues, there was so much more I wanted to impart about the unraveling. My mind was awake before my body had the impetus to move. Just like the unpredictable nature of its arrival and departure, the unraveling cannot be summed up in one sitting, it seems. That in itself is troubling to this writer’s brain. Because I know I’m not done. That the unraveling is not done with me. There are more stitches to sew in the mending of my frayed edges. Perhaps there always will be.

Maybe I just miss him. Maybe I always will. And maybe that’s okay. I know the unraveling will let me know for sure. But, unlike Home Economics, this life is not a pass/fail set of skills. So, today, I will take a deep breath and re-thread my needle. And give myself the grace to move forward.