March 19, 2020 marks 3 months since Curtis died. I thank it's symbolic that it's also the first day of spring this year.
We're moving in 8 days. Or we're supposed to move in 8 days. The apartments are brand new and just got done being built. They need to be inspected before we can move in and the inspecting department at the city is shut down right now due to COVID19.
Quin will be out of school until at least April 28th. But the situation could last until July or later.
Grocery stores keep running out of toilet paper. Apparently you can only buy it early in the morning and they limit the number you can take. Hand sanitizer and soap is also hard to find. Some people are trying to sell it for $75 on the internet.
I went through our 3 day kits and found that we have plenty of camping toilet paper but no underwear for ANYONE. Whoops.
The state of California is on lock down as of today. There are swarms of locusts in Africa and the Middle East. Salt Lake City had a 5.7 earthquake yesterday. Jason was at work when it happened. He said it felt like a space ship was landing on the roof. He was under a pile of pallets and was scared they would fall on him. He ran out of the building as fast as he could and is safe.
The virus has really affected my piano teaching because no one wants to risk getting exposed. I'm going to try my first skype lesson tomorrow.
Also, I'm on antibiotics recovering from mastitis. So I haven't been able to pack and I feel like I'm getting even farther behind.
Oddly though, with the extra stress I feel more peace. Things are so far out of hand that I know I can't solve them. So I don't try. I'm trying to let go and allow faith to take me to the next part of the journey.
On the plus side, I bought a harp ahead of schedule because I was worried that the music stores were going to close. I wanted to have it in case we were on lock down, so I could work on my new hobby :)
It's going to be alright.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Sunday, March 8, 2020
The Final Stage of Grief
I've been missing Curtis a lot. Michael and I watched "Ready Player One" and at the end I really wanted to show it to Curtis and Trevor. But I can't watch it with Curtis. I can't even ask him if he saw it in theaters. The part I thought he would like was climbing Mt. Everest with Batman.
Caught up in my memories of his final moments and the pain of this tragedy, I thought "this isn't how I wanted my life to go!" The gentle but firm answer was "but it's the way it is."
In our culture we're not crazy about the concept of acceptance. If you don't like your job, go back to school! If you don't like your significant other, get a new one! If you don't like how you look, change it! If you're unsatisfied with your experience, see a manager.
Everyone on Earth has something the're unsatisfied with about their life. Everyone experiences disappointment, heartbreak, and opposition. Sometimes there is no quick fix and acceptance is the only remedy. That's universal in the process of grief.
I don't feel like I experienced much of the anger stage of grief. I didn't feel angry at God. God didn't do anything wrong. He didn't take Curtis away. Curtis wasn't mine to keep here. It's still hard to let him go. I feel like I'm letting him go over and over and there's still a strand that I'm holding fast to. I love him. So much it hurts. It breaks my heart over and over to think about it. To look ahead to a life without him physically present. During the early days of our loss I kept thinking of the childhood chant of "can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go through it." That's how I feel about my grief. I can't run from it or maneuver around it. I must go through it, this soul-swallowing piercing pain. I have to accept that this is what happened in my life. It's the way my life is going. I can't fix or change the past. Oh, Curtis. We love you so much. We think about and wonder where you are, what you can see beyond the veil, who you are with.
Even thought I've touched the "final" stage of grief, acceptance, I know I'm far from being done with grieving. Acceptance doesn't end the grieving process. I'm not sure I'll ever be "done" grieving the loss of my little brother. And that's okay.
Caught up in my memories of his final moments and the pain of this tragedy, I thought "this isn't how I wanted my life to go!" The gentle but firm answer was "but it's the way it is."
In our culture we're not crazy about the concept of acceptance. If you don't like your job, go back to school! If you don't like your significant other, get a new one! If you don't like how you look, change it! If you're unsatisfied with your experience, see a manager.
Everyone on Earth has something the're unsatisfied with about their life. Everyone experiences disappointment, heartbreak, and opposition. Sometimes there is no quick fix and acceptance is the only remedy. That's universal in the process of grief.
I don't feel like I experienced much of the anger stage of grief. I didn't feel angry at God. God didn't do anything wrong. He didn't take Curtis away. Curtis wasn't mine to keep here. It's still hard to let him go. I feel like I'm letting him go over and over and there's still a strand that I'm holding fast to. I love him. So much it hurts. It breaks my heart over and over to think about it. To look ahead to a life without him physically present. During the early days of our loss I kept thinking of the childhood chant of "can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go through it." That's how I feel about my grief. I can't run from it or maneuver around it. I must go through it, this soul-swallowing piercing pain. I have to accept that this is what happened in my life. It's the way my life is going. I can't fix or change the past. Oh, Curtis. We love you so much. We think about and wonder where you are, what you can see beyond the veil, who you are with.
Even thought I've touched the "final" stage of grief, acceptance, I know I'm far from being done with grieving. Acceptance doesn't end the grieving process. I'm not sure I'll ever be "done" grieving the loss of my little brother. And that's okay.
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