Grief

Grief is an extremely personal and lonely journey. It’s an adventure you didn’t want to go on and wish you could have the control to end. It’s a parent on their knees begging for a trade, a sibling crumpled in a heap of tears, a friend thinking it could of been them. 

Each individual needs to find a way to grieve in a way that’s healthy for them. It’s confusing, and messy and you feel like no one understands what you’re going through. You compare your grief to others around you. Maybe you try and tell yourself that you can’t feel sad because someone else must feel worse. We can all be sad. We can all grieve the lives lost even if we never met these young men. And your grieving journey is just as important as any other.

Grief knows no judgement. People going through grief should do the same. Grief is not to be compared, or prioritized, it just is. 

Grief should be a community created with the intention to heal. To laugh after the tears have dried, or to cry when the laughter stops. A place made up of lonely, misunderstood, non judgemental people that find comfort in each other. 

Grief should be a unity of those who’s hands we can still hold. 

Much Love,

Megan

April 6th

For the past 4 years, this has been the worst day. It stands out on any calendar I look at, it randomly creeps into my thoughts throughout the year, and I anticipate it like no other. 

This year it felt as if I thought about April 6th every month. Every month it got a little closer and I got a little more nervous as to how I would feel. Would I be overcome with sadness like I was 4 years ago? Would the day feel like any other? Of course not. With every passing month I worried about my feeling on this day. I obsessed over the “what if’s”. What if I needed to stay in bed all day and cry but I have a son to take care of? What if he sees me crying and it upsets him? What if I’m so busy thinking about putting on a brave face I forget to mourn? 

Death changes your life right at the exact moment someone else’s was stopped. 

April 6th is the worst day. But it’s also a reset. A harsh reminder to be safe while driving, to submerge yourself into the people, places, and things you love. A reason to remember that life can be short, but it doesn’t have to be empty. April 6th is a pivoting point in so many lives. A day of loss, a day of change. A date that will never be forgotten or written incorrectly on a letter. April 6th, every year, is an adjustment. 

Grief is this invisible smoke that creeps up and has the power to suffocate you.  

Today I find tears in my eyes and my chest a little tight. Today is the worst day, but it’s also the best. It’s the best because I know I am not alone. I know so many people out there are remembering our friend, our sister, our granddaughter, our cousin, our niece, our daughter. We are all thinking of her and remembering her spirit. Her determination. Her eyes that were wise beyond their years. Her passion. Her fire. Together, today we remember Syd. This unity is a gift we all have. A community of April 6th survivors that we can all lean on.  

 

Mourning continues long after the colour has returned to our wardrobe. 

Much Love,

Megan

Love

The word love has such a strong punch at the beginning of a relationship. Hearing it from your partner simultaneously makes your heart stop and pound (it doesn’t make sense, don’t try to figure it out.) Why, as the relationship grows, does it not hit you as it leaves your partners lips? 

B and I have been together for three and a half years. We own our own home and have an eight month old son. Those are pretty big milestones and we have accomplished them fairly seamlessly. Oh how I LOVE our relationship. We can bicker, argue, flat out refuse to agree and not once have I ever felt unloved. I’ve never felt like I’m not respected. I’ve never felt like my voice should be quieter then his. I know he feels the same way. 

We are both incredibly stubborn but we are also both incredibly kind. If I’m out of line, he will tell me. If he’s out of line, I’ll tell him. We push each other to be better. I push his to take out the trash and do his dishes and he pushes me to take better care of myself mentally and physically. 

It doesn’t seem to matter how frustrated I get with the garbage overflowing, the man just won’t take it out. I’ve broken down and done it a couple times this past month and he hasn’t even noticed. I just don’t understand how he can spend 5 minuets balancing a protein wrapper on top of the heaping pile and not spend 5 minutes to take the damn thing out. 

I know he gets fiery when I don’t spend a few moments each day to reflect and “check in.” Because I get so snippy when I don’t. When I feel like I’m doing it all and I am at the mercy of a 17lbs human and I have the poor me’s. He can make his workouts a priority and his mental health thrives because of it. I can’t seem to create 20 minutes to myself each day for a little yoga. To him, this makes no sense. To me, ......... just take out the trash. 

We always, always, always say I love you. No matter how many times I asked for the garbage to be brought out, yet it’s still sitting there. No matter how many times he tells me to leave the house a mess and do yoga or have a bath. When he walks out that door to go to work or we lay our heads down at night, we say I love you. 

Because we do. We love each other.

It doesn’t have that punch it used to. My heart doesn’t start and stop at the same time when he says it. It’s more of a comfort now. A warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee. It rolls off our tounges effortlessly, but never insignificantly. We are so lucky our relationship has reached this point. It’s not a lazy, don’t care, wear sweats and only shave in the summer attitude. It’s an understanding. On a really fricken deep level. 

He understands me. Understands my attitude, which lets be real can seem like it’s own person some days. Understands what makes me stressed. Understands what makes me happy. I can jump from one topic to the next which would leave most people dazed and confused and if I asked him, B would tell me exactly the steps my mind took to get there. It’s wild. 

I understand him. I understand his need to weigh all his food before he eats it. I understand his level of commitment to the gym. I understand when he doesn’t hit the weight or the reps he was supposed to how it can ruin his entire day (week.) I understand that he loves me so deeply, loves our son so deeply, that he works himself into a stress ball thinking about money and our future and how he can provide everything he thinks we need. 

We only need each other though. And I know. That’s sooooo lame. Soooo cliche. But it’s true. We balance each other out. I’m either a 1 or a 10 (happy or angry) and he’s always a 5. Okay, so he pretty balanced. But without me he wouldn’t be laughing at 11pm when it’s way past his bed time because I won’t stop tickling him. And yes, it’s really passing him off. He’s sitting at a 5.5 right now. But I love it. I love him. 

Love doesn’t always have to have a punch. It doesn’t always have to skip a beat. If you’re lucky, love will be the rhythm that you move your life to. 

Much Love,

Megan

I had an urge to write today.

I’m feeling good. I did my yoga, applied my makeup and have supper prepped. My adorable little is playing with his pink ball and crawling around leaving a trail of drool. His teeth have doubled this week (3-6) and I have been feeling quite outnumbered. They keep popping through and causing him so much pain. Just when I think I’ve applied the perfect amount of natural numbing cream and the correct teething toy he wanted the balance that was originally require changes. 

So we adapt. 

We try new things, new combinations of old tricks and we hope for the best. That’s been my journey recently. 

It’s been tough but I’m trying to have more self awareness. I’m trying to understand exactly what makes me happy and exactly what makes me sad. Sounds a lot more simple then what the reality has been. 

Obviously I’ve done my fair share of adapting since Dax has been born. Stepping into my new role of “Mama” has been eye opening. I’m somehow teaching this human how to explore the world and figure out how his body and mind work as one. The scary thing about this is I’m not even sure I know what that even means. 

Yes, I understand that I have toes and he’s just recently found his. But the principle is the same. He’s learning how to adapt and move around his new environment and I’m doing the same.

I’m adjusting my routines. I’m learning how to love myself in hopes he will follow. I’m working hard on all my relationships so Dax can see how much his parents love eachother, their friends, their family, their work, their passions, and most importantly, themselves. 

I’m changing my negative thoughts into positive affirmations. I’m horribly failing. It’s so much easier for me to put myself down and to let others put me down because that habit is so deeply rooted. It’s gotten to the point that the roots are twisting around all the positivity in my life. Choking it out. So I’m changing.

This little human who laughs at the word poop and literally shits his pants once a day has forced me into this beautiful adapt to survive mentality. I was so blindly unprepared for his arrival. So blindly oblivious to the things I would learn. Oblivious to the things I would have to overcome. Oblivious to the the personal growth that was about to take place. 

I’m teaching him to walk, he’s teaching me to love. He’s the scariest surprise gift I’ve ever been given. 

Much Love,

Megan