I got slammed hard today by a grief wave, harder than I have in quite some time. I am now on the other side of it, writing as a way to process and cope with what just happened. There was no clear trigger, but I could feel it creeping up over the last week. Her face, voice or laugh has been popping up in my mind, followed by a visual reminder that her life stopped over 2.5 years ago. Although I have found a way over time to keep living and moving forward in a life full of depth, meaning, and joy since she died....today was hard.

After I dropped the kids off at school this morning it all came crashing down. I cried the whole way home. I marched in straight for my bed and collapsed. I cried curled up on my side, feeling deep sadness. I miss you Kamila. I looked at the clock and it was 9:08am. I had a client in 37 minutes. I knew that I couldn't fully let myself go but I also didn't know how to pull myself together with such little time. I reached out to a few friends through text and waved my flag a little, telling them I wasn't ok. They sent me loving words. There's nothing anyone can do or say that will bring relief. But sharing how I feel helps me to feel less alone.

I looked at the clock again...22 minutes before I needed to be in front of my computer to meet with my client for a psychotherapy session. I have enough time for a quick bath. I let the hot water hold me in stillness as I went into a trance-like state. It felt like a calming reprieve but I knew in the back of my mind that I had minutes left. I got out and kicked into high-gear. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, ran down the stairs and out the back door to my backyard office. I was able to shelve my pain and show up for my client, 4 minutes late.

I only had 11 minutes before my second client. I rushed into the house, took a bite of leftover butter chicken and felt grief pain in my chest and stomach. My eyes teared up. I became aware that I could see my next client, but that I would need to cancel my afternoon. I made the call and let my clients know with short notice that I needed to reschedule. Feeling some relief from knowing I would have time later, I was able to show up for my second client, and welcomed the distraction. As soon as I finished I came in and walked my feet back to bed.

The grief wave came in full force. The intensity completely caught me off guard. My legs seized right up and started to shake, I felt the contraction pain in my abdomen, and held my breath for long periods of time as the pain tore downward through my body. Up for air, then back down again into a constricted, flexed body, holding my breath. I screamed and wailed, just like I did in the days, weeks and months after she died. There was a threshold, perhaps the crest of the wave, where I almost panicked because of the level of pain I was experiencing. My body shook intensely and rocked from side to side. Finally the shaking stopped and the rocking slowed down to a stop. I became quiet, breathing softly, completely zoned out. After what felt like about 15 minutes of staring off into space, I knew that I had made it to the other side of the wave.

I'm still here in my bed now as I type these words. I don't have any idea what triggered this monstrous surge. I went back into my journals to find that the last 2 waves were Dec 10th, 2023, the day my kids decorated the Christmas tree, and on January 11th, 2024, the day after the most precious visit with one of Kamila's best friends. It goes to show that there are some that I can predict and some that come out of left field, which is really not left field, because my daughter died. Somehow it feels like I regain control from tracking these huge grief events, and noticing that although they may or may not have an obvious trigger, they occur about once a month.

I think I'll close my eyes now and have a nap. My original intention for this blog was to help others through grief, but today I acknowledge that it also helps me. So thank you, for giving me a reason to write that also creates space for my pain.