I miss Everett so much. Those 5 words may seems easy to gloss over, but when I say them, it is the easiest way I know to describe the overpowering feeling churning in my soul. It’s a bigger helping of both love and grief then I have ever known, and they are mixed together at the same time in my soul. I am a tiny hill with a Mount Everest sized volcano burning inside me. It’s too much to be contained, to be stopped. It burns like raging lava. The love is a love that I can no longer give, and the grief is a grief that in this lifetime has no remedy. Everett won’t be coming back for me to love, and Everett won’t be returning to turn my grief into joy. It’s a horrible, violent pain. I hate that this is my reality. I hate it so, so much. It feels unbearable, and yet somehow we are here now. We have survived almost 100 days of life without you Everett. But I miss you, Everett. I miss you so much. I wish you were here. I love you.

It’s been such an unbelievably hard and heavy three months. Thank you for the countless ways so many of you reading this have blessed with your support. Please keep on praying for us. The days feel like a battle just to survive. And tomorrow looks the same: just survive. Our hearts are overflowing with sorrow, pain, questions, fear, doubts, dread, sadness, and exhaustion. I do believe that there will be brighter days, but right now it is so hard to see how that could ever be.

It’s hard for me to look back and evaluate my grief journey from months 2 to 3, and I am not sure it is overly wise or necessary. Grief doesn’t travel along a straight path towards healing, and it’s different for everybody, so I don’t think putting pressure on myself to see steady ‘improvement’ is going to help me. I have heard numerous times the suggestion to ‘be kind to yourself’. So if you are battling your own grief, I would give you the same advice. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself grace. Don’t give yourself big demands.

Here are some quick observations that jump out to me from the past month or so of my grief journey (please note these are just my personal experiences, these things aren’t what everybody experiences):
-the physical ache in my heart has lessoned
– the days feel just as hard as the previous 30 days.
– I still cry daily (I think, I don’t keep track). This month I have been doing more heavy crying, the sobbing kind.
-seeing Everett’s things laying around, or his absense at our table, in our van etc has less of a shock value, but still brings me great pain and I think of it a lot
– I often feel very depressed, like I am living in a dark cloud
-I still think about Everett obsessively, from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep. I can briefly forget about him if I get distracted, but my default mode is thinking about him, and my heart perpetually gives off the signal that all is not right
-I do not feel any joy. There are no great days. A good day is not really a good day, it means it was a non-horrid day that felt more bearable.
-I have noticed the past week or so there have been moments where I have been singing to myself

In terms of family news, we have had some visitors from Waterloo Region, which has been very encouraging. It’s a 3+ hour drive, so it means a lot when people come up just to see us. Driving 3 hours to visit people who are grieving isn’t most people’s idea of fun, so thank you to our friends for your love.

My brother spearheaded an army of generous volunteers and supplies to build us a backyard rink for this winter. It was a massive project as it included doing some major landscaping to our yard to get it level, and then a lot of physical work to get the boards painted and set up. We should have one of the nicest rinks in Parry Sound this winter. Thank you so much to everyone who chipped in to this project! Everett loved hockey, and our backyard rink we had in Waterloo, so this will in some ways be a very painful reminder that he is gone, and will make me miss him a lot. But, it will also be a great thing to help get us through the winter. Caring for the rink should be therapeutic for me.

A couple weeks ago we went back to Waterloo to visit family for the first time since we moved. We never imagined that our first trip back would be as a family of 4. It was difficult, but possibly not as difficult as I anticipated.

I had a birthday. I normally don’t want lots of attention, but this was a really hard day for me. Amberley was planning on taking me out to eat for supper but by the time I got away from work I was desperate to visit Everett’s grave. I was grieving the fact that this year I knew I wouldn’t get to receive a funny/sweet homemade card from him, or hear what he might say to me. I was a wreck by the time I got home, so we postponed the dinner until the next evening. We had an ok time together the next night. I think it was our first ‘date’ since moving.

Tonight we played a game as a first time as a family since Everett left us. We played Quirkle. It was really hard for me. Everett loved games a lot. He would also keep score, and he would also often win. Piper had a lot of fun, and was acting very happy and loud. For me and Amberley, the noise and bouncing is too much. Our patience and tolerance feels so low. I hate being annoyed at my own children for being ordinary kids!

Me and Amberley have both started grief counselling. Our grief has looked very different, so we both have our own separate weekly therapy sessions. This has been very good for both of us so far. It means a lot to us to have someone to talk to about how we are doing/feeling, and for the encouragement and advice our therapists are able to give us. One of the big things I struggle with is wishing Everett would come back. I think these thoughts over and over, obsessively. It may sound strange or foolish, since that is impossible, but it is a very common response of those grieving. I know Everett isn’t coming back, but I wish he could. I really wish he would! My therapist has been trying to help me to “change what I reach for”. So when this crushing grief hits me, instead of wishing something like this that is impossible, instead I can remind myself of truth: the same loving, tender and compassionate God that is holding my son Everett is at the same time holding me. We are both being held by our kind, loving Father. This isn’t a magic formula that stops my pain, but hopefully over time it will help me. It takes work to remind myself of this, and to think about the blessings that Everett now knows: unending delight in God’s presence, no fear, no tears, only joy and unending pleasure.

Awhile ago I blogged about some goals I made for myself. I would say that has been going ok. I am definitely scoring well below 100, or probably even below 60%, but I am doing some of these things at least some of the time, so I will count it as a win. (Shoutout to my wife who now usually makes my work lunch, huge easy win for me). A friend who has faced a lot of hardships thought my list was probably a little overambitious, so that was reassuring to know that I shouldn’t stress my shortcomings.

Grief is a lot more complicated than I ever knew. It’s so hard to know when I am grieving well, and when am I just feeling sorry for myself? When am I grieving in an unhealthy or selfish way? Is grief sometimes an enemy that we should try to avoid? When are distractions good, and when am I just trying to medicate the pain? Grief is necessary, but how you respond to it makes a huge difference. Am I responding well? I sure don’t feel well. I don’t feel like I am healing. I don’t have the answers. One day at a time. Jesus help me please.

I will sign off with a couple sections of scripture that I have been quoting to myself over and over lately.

 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
-Matt 11:28-30

The Lord is my Shepherd, I have all that I need -Psalm 23:1a