I’ll Keep Trying
When I’d get broken up with in middle and high school, because I always did, I would lock myself in my bedroom and blare sad breakup songs. I’d let the feelings of loss and sadness, inadequacy and heartbreak wash over me, breaking me. I’d sit and cry until I couldn’t cry anymore. I’d write it all out, pen furiously scribbling across the page answering my own questions as I asked them.
The point here is that when I got sad, I let myself feel it.
I might have been a lunatic as a pre-teen and teenager (please feel free to hold your tongues here, sibs), but I was kind of on to something I have to admit. I didn’t carry those feelings around with me. I didn’t stew in them for weeks or months at a time, allowing them to change me at my core.
Funny how we could all probably learn a thing or two for the resilience the younger versions of ourselves experienced. When the darkness creeps in, and you allow yourself to marinate in it instead of dealing with it head on, it becomes harder to find the light.
I remember my uncle went through something awful when I was a kid. He made a big life decision around falling in love only to be left, literally up and left weeks later. He kept on like everything was fine, and we let him. And then one afternoon this song, nobody knows it but me by Tony Rich Project, came on the radio while I was riding shotgun in his car. I broke down sobbing. Panicked, he pulled over, frantic to find out what was wrong.
The song, I told him between ragged breaths. It makes me think of you.
I’m fine, he assured me. But I knew he wasn’t.
I knew on the inside he was dying, but he never broke. Never.
I saw him cry often in his life, but only ever tears of happiness.
But I knew there was darkness in him, and I remember my heart hurting so badly for him.
I was just a kid, but I got it.
I understood that loss could feel like being gutted, leaving you empty and hallow inside.
Somehow losing my dad has compounded all of the other losses I’ve suffered in this life, especially that uncle who we lost unexpectedly in 2007. Taking a page from his book, I channeled what little inner strength I had and told myself to get through it.
I was a smarter kid than I am adult.
Because it doesn’t work that way.
You don’t get through loss. You don’t get over it, either. You have to let yourself feel it, suffer through it, all the while reminding yourself that someday you’ll learn to carry it with grace. Sometimes you’ll feel fine. Sometimes you’ll break. And all of it is okay; we all wear grief differently. It hits us all in different ways at different times.
It’s been exactly five months since my dad took his last breath, and I have no idea how to make sense of how I feel about that. It’s been 9 years since my uncle passed away, and that loss hits me like a ton of bricks repeatedly without warning often.
The locked door, sad songs and scribbles don’t seem to have touched this brokenness,
but I’ll keep trying.
