Getting to Acceptance

Most of us are familiar with the grieving process. We’ve seen that list. Some are a little more detailed but they all show the same numbered list. Shock, denial, anger…and eventually acceptance. Until we experience loss, I believe, most of us think that the grieving process starts at step 1 and ends with acceptance and life is wonderful again and you’re done. Oh, how wrong that line of thinking is!

I like these pictures because they demonstrate what grieving looks like. There are no steps to follow. You will experience all the stages. I’m pretty sure I experienced all of the stages in one day on some days! Grief is horrible. It ties your body and mind in knots. It’s like that horrible task you put off until the last minute and then you dive into it thinking you can just get in and get it done, but you can’t. First, you have to find all of the knots, then start untying the knots, and putting things back together, except now everything goes back together in a different order.

Grief turns your world upside down. Everyday is a battle over your thoughts and feelings. My own personal experience with grief has proven to me time and time again that I can have what is now known as a perfectly good day and go to bed happy, only to wake up the next day in a completely different place. A place where I have to force myself to get out of bed and face the reality of loss all over again–where it feels like I only lost Patrick a few minutes ago.

I don’t have a consistent sleep pattern. It started before Patrick died and has deteriorated since then. Sometimes though, during those weird awake hours I have my best prayer, thinking, planning, writing inspiration, and ideas that I can take over the world(insert goofy smile here).

This morning I was awake around 3:00. As usual I was thinking about Patrick. I missed him. I missed him sneaking in into my bedroom and snuggling up with us. I think he had gotten to the point of never really waking up from the walk from his room to ours. It was such an automatic thing. He knew exactly where to walk, where to climb into our bed and where to snuggle up. If I was awake when he came in I’d watch him and most nights he never even opened eyes.

In all of this missing Patrick and wishing he was there to snuggle up, a peace came over my mind and body. I was at peace that he wasn’t there. That he’s never going to crawl into my bed at 3:00 in the morning and snuggle. That I’m not going to see him grow up. That we aren’t going to go to Target and analyze every lego kit until I give the 1 minute warning. That he’s not going to sit next to me at the table and eat dinner. That he’s not going to show me some new dance move or sing his favorite song for me. That I’m not going to hear him say something funny or ask me to play knock-knock jokes with him. That I’ll never hear how his day was and who he played with at school. That I’ll never hear him beg for 5 more minutes before bath and bedtime. That I’ll never see what he’ll look like as a teenager, a young man, or even an old man. But there was peace. While I’ll never be ok with Patrick not being here, I was at peace and I thought…maybe… this is the beginning of accepting of it all…