Harder and Heavier

September 17, 2023

Harder and heavier - how I would summarize this last month.

I’m three months closer to Georgia in a beautiful way and three months further from her in the saddest way.

Writing has been a lot easier than showing up on Instagram Stories, so here I am.  I can blow my nose whenever I want and curl into a ball when needed. I’ll still show up on stories but, on the really hard days, I don’t want to stop sharing about the in-betweens of grief.

Month three has been heavy. I used to bounce back from grievy days quicker but, now, I’m finding it takes a lot more time and slowness to recuperate. I’m realizing that there will be an emptiness in every day that I need to learn how to live with.

I am able to predict grief a bit better. I know when it’s coming on heavy and plan/cancel accordingly.  I have my go-to people who sit in the sad with me and show up in the most lovely ways.  I’ve found myself praying more and asking questions less. I won’t ever understand her disease, her pain, and suffering this side of heaven so I’m purposing in my heart to understand what else lies ahead for me here and how I can honour Georgia and point to Jesus.

I’m getting better at choosing to write the pain out instead of mindlessly scrolling (distraction does have its place though). I’ve joined a gym and it has been a powerful tool to get me out of the house and out of funks.  I’ve been walking daily. I’ve been taking my supplements. I’ve been eating pretty great. I’ve started cooking again and even enjoying it a bit more too.

I feel as if I’m in rehab after a life-altering illness or surgery.  It’s as though I’m re-learning how to do basic tasks with a body and reality that doesn’t feel like my own. The weight of the grief is too much some days, so, on those days, I prioritize rest and then try again the next.  A lot of these tasks didn’t take much thought or intention before but now they take all of it.

I haven’t forgotten how difficult Georgia’s life was. I’m often reminded of her cries and sobs that would echo in our house. I remember holding her and feeling so helpless as she arched in pain, staring at me as if she was begging for me to make her feel better.  I will never forget the moments I desperately prayed for healing or Heaven for her.

I often wished I could take the pain away from her and, now, here we are.  I know she’s experiencing true joy and perfection in Heaven AND I know we’re experiencing the deepest pain.  It feels right in the most awful way.   I just wish it could be so different.

Miss you, Honeybee. Always.