The Slow Burn of Grief

Sometimes in bed at night I get the heebie-jeebies. I’m sure there’s a more scientific term for this, but I studied journalism in college, not medicine, and every time I Google a medical ailment, I leave the search certain that whatever I have is going to kill me. That said, we’re ditching WebMD and going with heebie-jeebies. 

            I never know when it’s going to happen until I find myself twisting and turning every few seconds through the night in search of a peaceful state. Moving to the living room couch usually remedies the situation, but right now the couch isn’t helping, and it’s not nighttime. I’m feeling the heebie-jeebies constantly, and I can’t seem to figure out a way to stop it.  

            Change in life is a given, and I’m usually a big fan of it, but right now I’m not sure what to do with it. It’s been a little over a month since my beautiful mother stopped breathing, and in that month, I haven’t been able to catch my breath. I haven’t been this tired since I had newborn twins, and I find it ironic that it takes just as much energy to bring someone into the world as it takes to usher them out. 

            Grief is exhausting, and unless you’ve been in the throes of it, which we all will be at some point, you don’t realize that. No matter what form it takes — crying, yelling, sitting, sleeping, shopping, running — it’s exhausting. And it’s cruel how it plays hide and seek with your emotions. On the days you think you’ll be miserable, you wake up feeling fine. Then a regular old day will turn into the Super Bowl of sorrow when you hear a certain song or phrase that connects you to your missing piece. 

            I’m not someone to sit still, but I’m getting better at it because I know that’s what I need to do right now. I don’t want to rush through all of this without gleaning what I need from it to move on in a healthy, maybe even enlightened way. That would be a waste. 

            It’s no secret that I’m a huge Kacey Musgraves fan, and her song Slow Burn pretty much sums up where I am right now. (If you haven’t heard it, go to YouTube and look up her live performance of it at the CMA Awards — perfection.) When I heard her sing this live last week in Charlotte, I knew what the song meant to me, and I was so happy when I later read that the song means the same to her. 

            “It’s just an ode to the pace of something unfolding in a nice and slow way. …The best things in life are a slow burn — something you enjoy the journey of,” said Kacey on The Boot website.

         I can’t say that I’m enjoying my journey right now, but I am grateful for it. The lessons I’m learning and the beauty I’ve seen in the last few months can’t be predicted or purchased. And somewhere underneath all this sadness and uncertainty, Winks of Goodness flitter around like fire flies, lighting my way back to life. 

            So every morning, I wake up and keep my eyes peeled for the good stuff — a kiss on the cheek from my husband, hugs from my kids, snuggles from our cats, the random person holding the door, and all the sweet souls who’ve lost their mothers and share their stinging stories with me. 

            As Kacey sings in Slow Burn, “Old soul waiting my turn, I know a few things, but I’ve still got a lot to learn, so I’m alright with a slow burn.”             

I’m getting to the point where I’m all right with it, too.