Have a Good Day

Last week a friend of mine asked me how it makes me feel when someone says, “Have a good day” or “Happy Easter”. Her question was very touching because I don’t think many people think of how simple phrases like that affect someone who is grieving. A “good day”…eh…not likely. It might just suck less than other days. And holidays are worse…because no matter what happens, the pain of the missing loved one is overwhelming. Did I have a nice Easter? Absolutely. I think it was as good as it could be under the circumstances. Did I miss Jason the whole entire day so bad it hurt? Absolutely. But do I think you should stop saying “Have a good day”? No, I think of it as you just wishing I have the best day I can under the circumstances and that you are thinking about me.

For me the hurt is a little better when I am among people who are hurting and missing him too. When I was sitting at Jason’s sister’s yesterday I noticed she has a photo cube sitting on her table and on one of the sides is a picture of her and Jason from Jeremy’s wedding. That made me smile…and get teary…but it was a good teary. One of my fears is that Jason will be forgotten. That no one will want to talk about him and reminisce with me about good memories and happier times. So when I am among people that I feel comfortable talking about him with, it eases my fears a little bit.

If you ever see me and wonder if you should bring up Jason, please do! He is always right in the front of my mind. I might get teary, but that’s okay! As a wise woman once told me “you have to feel it, to heal it”.

Landmine

A powder keg
A landmine
Hair-trigger emotion.

You tiptoe around
Don’t say his name
Avoiding a chain reaction.

And are you relieved
As long as my cheeks are dry?
Inside my scream is deafening.

And I yearn to talk to you-
Cry on your shoulder-
You never ask how I’m feeling.

Do you think that I can just move on?
He may be gone,
But I still wear his band.

And maybe someday I’ll be happy
But that day is not today.
Grief doesn’t follow a plan.

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