We have had a busy week here – there has been a birthday (somebody turned six), training wheels came off a couple of bicycles and we felt moments of genuine happiness. The happiness came as the biggest surprise, none of us saw it coming. It came wrapped in children and sunshine and tasted vaguely familiar.
“He would have loved this.” We all thought but were afraid to whisper lest the spell be broken. And he would have. Little kids zooming down the cul de sac unsupported on two wheelers. Whoops of encouragement. Applause. The long shadows of the early evening cooling the pavement after an unseasonably warm day. It was ordinary and extraordinary in the same moment – it was exactly something he would have loved. Happiness it seems is fluid and I had no idea we were all so parched. It’s been a long time since any of us felt untethered from grief.
Happiness should not be misconstrued with laughter – laughter is an action, happiness is an emotion. A person can laugh and not be happy. I think we’ve been doing a lot of that lately. We reminisce and our memories are happy – we laugh at the stories because we did when they happened – funny then, funny now. But this week we laughed at a moment, we were happy in the ‘now’, and it felt strange and good. And then suddenly it didn’t. Suddenly I felt guilty about the happy, guilty I had let the sun in so soon. I was almost thankful the moment had been fleeting.
I can recall happiness sneaking back into my life after my mother died, it was a mixed blessing then as well. With every wave of happiness came another of guilt, and grief pulsed from my heart like the tide inching up the beach. Happiness was both welcomed and resisted – it stung.
I’m watching my kids struggle with this sensation, watching as they attempt to find a new sense of normal – a life without their father in it – and it adds to my grief.
I am still walking around in a fog. The sun pokes through from time to time but only long enough to expose me to the guilt I feel for noticing it. It shines a light on all that has changed, all that will never be the same, and I willingly walk back into my fog again. I feel protected by the fog, camouflaged, it’s a barrier between me and the real world, a buffer. The fog is like a sponge, it sops up tears but it also filters the sun. Neither grief nor happiness can thrive in the fog. The fog feels comfortable and safe. I’m not ready to face the real world.
I’m thankful for these busy days. Thankful for the breather, and thankful for the glimpse of what’s to come. But I’m not ready yet.