Grief: Rest in Pieces
It's Memorial Day.
So often people fly their American flags and shoot fireworks thinking it is a celebration of this nation, something political of sorts but a sure reason to fire up the grill. Sure, I won't be a hypocrite and say I didn't eat a delicious burger yesterday and that I hope to relax and do sparklers on the roof tonight for photos, but the day is different for me. My family is full of U.S. Marines, ARMY soldiers, West Point alumni and other amazing service men/women who served and still serve our nation. Most of them, thank God, are alive and well to celebrate this day with us in their own way. However, many people do not have the honor or privileged of seeing their beloved family on this day because perhaps they were killed in action. Not just those who get a purple heart at the funeral and guns fired because of some heroic act of chosen death as they jumped onto some granade (not to say these are not amazing acts), but also to those who died of injuries encured in battle, to self-inflicted gun shot wounds to the head because the battle never left their mind and to those who lost a large part of their life when they decided to serve. The psychologist in me always over analysis this day but my social media feeds are flooded with personal stories that cannot keep my thoughts at bay.
Colleen, someone I went to high school with, someone who I passed a pencil to in English class, lost her husband in the line of duty. Now she works with FOLDS OF HONOR telling her journey.
My friend Adam Prentice, now a firemen and Reserve, sees his fellow soldiers dying over seas and at home all the time (he runs races in honor and awareness of those who commit suicide post war).
Some people never come home and some never come home the same. Memorial Day is a really important day of humble reflection. I hug my children extra tight, my own husband who served 8 years sits safely in the next room and my heart still hurts for those who have died in life for no special reason.
Grief moves from those who die in service to those who have died. My mind moves to grief, anxiety and the thoughts of my mom. Here we are, a nation celebrating over fireworks and grilled food, for those who die in the line of duty. People die everyday, someone like my mom, in a small and weak act of depression, neglect, hopelessness... and I don't know how to celebrate it? I don't know how to memorialize someone who, some days, I'm glad is gone. She was an addict and toxic person; I didn't even answer the majority of her calls because it was going to be 'verbal abuse routlette' when you said, "hello".
Grief can be sadness, guilt, guilt over lack of sadness, guilt of sadness that won't leave, shame of tears that won't come and the void of wishing you had tears to cry.
On a complete side note, fuck it - this is my blog, I signed up for Improv Classes. This should be fun.
So often people fly their American flags and shoot fireworks thinking it is a celebration of this nation, something political of sorts but a sure reason to fire up the grill. Sure, I won't be a hypocrite and say I didn't eat a delicious burger yesterday and that I hope to relax and do sparklers on the roof tonight for photos, but the day is different for me. My family is full of U.S. Marines, ARMY soldiers, West Point alumni and other amazing service men/women who served and still serve our nation. Most of them, thank God, are alive and well to celebrate this day with us in their own way. However, many people do not have the honor or privileged of seeing their beloved family on this day because perhaps they were killed in action. Not just those who get a purple heart at the funeral and guns fired because of some heroic act of chosen death as they jumped onto some granade (not to say these are not amazing acts), but also to those who died of injuries encured in battle, to self-inflicted gun shot wounds to the head because the battle never left their mind and to those who lost a large part of their life when they decided to serve. The psychologist in me always over analysis this day but my social media feeds are flooded with personal stories that cannot keep my thoughts at bay.
Colleen, someone I went to high school with, someone who I passed a pencil to in English class, lost her husband in the line of duty. Now she works with FOLDS OF HONOR telling her journey.
My friend Adam Prentice, now a firemen and Reserve, sees his fellow soldiers dying over seas and at home all the time (he runs races in honor and awareness of those who commit suicide post war).
Some people never come home and some never come home the same. Memorial Day is a really important day of humble reflection. I hug my children extra tight, my own husband who served 8 years sits safely in the next room and my heart still hurts for those who have died in life for no special reason.
Grief moves from those who die in service to those who have died. My mind moves to grief, anxiety and the thoughts of my mom. Here we are, a nation celebrating over fireworks and grilled food, for those who die in the line of duty. People die everyday, someone like my mom, in a small and weak act of depression, neglect, hopelessness... and I don't know how to celebrate it? I don't know how to memorialize someone who, some days, I'm glad is gone. She was an addict and toxic person; I didn't even answer the majority of her calls because it was going to be 'verbal abuse routlette' when you said, "hello".
Grief can be sadness, guilt, guilt over lack of sadness, guilt of sadness that won't leave, shame of tears that won't come and the void of wishing you had tears to cry.
On a complete side note, fuck it - this is my blog, I signed up for Improv Classes. This should be fun.
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