This morning, after a long and sleepless night, I drove up to the small plot of land that holds my husband's earthly remains. I keep a chair and a bat there for such a day as this. I didn't use the chair today -- I used the bat.
Grief is strange and unpredictable. I like to think that I am actually at a good point in my walk through this year of grief. I seem to be moving forward; celebrating my child, enjoying life with friends, starting to live again, thinking of the future, maybe even hoping for another hand to hold for the rest of my journey. But then days like today happen and I find myself prostrate on the ground lying next to him sobbing my eyes out.
Today I used the bat. I beat the cold, hard ground until my arms ached. I smashed the cemetery vase which held the flowers I keep there for him. It was filled with rain and muddy water...now I am splattered with it too.
It felt good - at least for the moment. But it really didn't help me. When I finished my batting practice (LOL) and got up from laying beside him all I had was the dirt. Red Georgia clay, on my legs, arms, stained on my shirt and under my fingernails. I had it on my face, muddy tears. I'm sure it's in my hair. I'm a hot mess this morning.
BUT...I don't want to be covered in cemetery dirt. I didn't choose that path. He did. He chose to be in the ground and to leave me, to leave our daughter, our life. I hate and love that plot of cemetery dirt in ways that I cannot begin to explain.
I'm covered in it today -- but in a few minutes I am going to take a shower and wash it all away. I'm going to turn my head to the day and leave the cemetery dirt behind... at least for a day or two anyway.
* September is Suicide Prevention Awareness month. Look out for the people in your life and take note of their words and actions. There are signs to look for and things we can do to help.
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