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| Day 88 |
Good grief was one of those antiquated terms thrown around in my childhood household.
It was exclaimed, essentially, when I was being a pain in the ass. Therefore, it seemed, grief must be akin to some sort of annoyance, inconvenience or frustration.
Not until I lost my father did I understand what grief truly meant.
One year ago today, my father was still alive.
Tomorrow, he was not.
The reality of that statement is like an algebraic equation around which I cannot quite wrap my head.
The fact that one moment this person was here, and the next they were not is unfathomable to me. It has been 351 days and I still don't quite get it. Sure, the concept is simple enough, but the reality is a whole other ball of wax.
It was explained to me by friend who I know it meant well that everyone dies and this was just the way my dad went out - in a tragically unexpected and painfully avoidable manner. She went on to inquire as to whether or not my parents had ever explained the concept of death to me. Only feeling mildly defensive I remained quite and contemplative.
I have been experiencing loss, in the form of death, since I was a little girl. The concept was not a new one for me. Sadness surrounding the passing of that loved one - that was old hat. That pang of missing someone when you want to call and tell them about a new movie or share a story and realizing, as you pick up the phone that you simply cant. I get that. But nothing quite prepares you for true grief. A short word, but a long process.
Honestly, not until months and months later did the idea sink in, permeating every corner of my life and effecting my thoughts, feelings and actions. A dark pall cast over every decision, every statement. Sometimes I want to try to explain to people upon first meeting that this isn't really me, because my dad is no longer here. I want to talk to my bosses about how my performance in no way could be tip top because my mind is so constantly occupied, not thinking of anything in particular, yet everything all at once. My mind is utterly elsewhere. I want to let my partner know that I can be better, and I will be better, just as soon as they find a cure for this pesky grief. But, as any thoughtful adult knows, you simply cannot do that. Though Corky is no longer here to illustrate this point, life goes on - and so must I.
I must face facts that I can only do the best I can with the given circumstances and, though the current ones may seem to suck ass - it is what it is. No excuses or explanations, only slowly chipping away at the crippling aspect of the aftermath and belief that things will get better and that the dark pall cast over my life will lift eventually and I will once again feel the sun on my face ... at least I hope so!
Try as you might to avoid grief, it gets you. #100 days of art was a project I took on both to feed my soul and to help me process; help me survive my grief. Below you can find the final days of my project, both random as well as fraught with meaning. Just like life.
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| Day 89 |
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| Day 90 |
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| Day 91 |
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| Day 92 |
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| Day 93 |
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| Day 94 |
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| Day 95 |
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| Day 96 |
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| Day 97 |
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| Day 98 |
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| Day 99 |
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| Day 100 |
