Have you heard Sara Evan’s new song, A Little Bit Stronger? It’s been out for a couple weeks and it just brings me to tears every. single. time. She’s singing about a broken relationship and not only does it sound so familiar to losing my parents, but I’ve realized that I’ve also been in an ongoing relationship with Grief and Depression since it happened. A bad relationship.
Woke up late today
And I still feel the sting of the pain
But I brushed my teeth anyway
Got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face,
I got a little bit stronger
Today is the 5th anniversary of losing my parents and, well, everything makes me cry lately.
I’ve been in this ugly push-pull between being happy, being thankful, being patient and intentional and being angry, being hurt, being numb and being frantic with anxiety over every second, every minute, every day being the last. Being traumatized by what happened. Being sad. Being exhausted by the sadness.
Driving in the car to work
And I’m trying to ignore the hurt
So I turned on the radio
Stupid song made me think about you
So I listened for a minute, but then I changed it
I’m getting a little bit stronger
Part of me wants to move on like everyone that doesn’t know anything about it talks about. Part of me wants to be magically happy again. And part of me knows that’s totally impossible because I don’t believe in magic anymore and happiness is overrated.
But so is this on-going, emotionally abusive relationship with Grief.
It’s not like life was perfect before the accident and now it’s imperfect. Life is just life. Happiness is just happiness. Sadness is just sadness. They’re not mutually exclusive. And depression and grief don’t always have to be capitalized.
And I’m done hoping that we can work it out
I’m done with how it feels, spinning my wheels
And dragging my heart around
And I’m done thinking that you could ever change…
Sometimes they are. For some people they are. I’ve been living with the big “D” version of Depression for several years now. And the capital “G” Grief. And the upper case “A” Anxiety. And all their little party-hardy friends, Stress, Frustration, Indecision, Apathy, Desperation…
But for me, for now, I’m done with all those capital letter relationships.
It doesn’t happen overnight
But you turn around and a month’s gone by
And you realize you haven’t cried
Not giving you a hour or a second or another minute longer
I’m busy getting stronger
I’m tired of feeling like I’m waiting for the day when I’m going to suddenly be ok and until then everything I am is somehow not right, not good. That I’m not healed if it still hurts.
If you lose an arm, you don’t get “better” because it grows back. If you lose a chunk of your heart, a chunk of your life, it doesn’t grow back. It doesn’t close up, or get filled up, or replaced. You just learn to walk around without it.
You just keep going.
And I’m done hoping that we can work it out
I’m done with how it feels, spinning my wheels
And dragging my heart around
And I’m done thinking that you could ever change…
I was a 27 year old woman sitting with her husband the couch with their first child sleeping peacefully in her crib upstairs on a quiet Saturday night when my parents were in a horrible, violent motorcycle accident and ripped out of my life forever. No goodbyes. No preparing ourselves. No sweet last moments. They were gone before we even pulled out of our driveway to come to the hospital. They were gone before I even had time to pray for them. Just gone.
I’ve lived through planning funerals, writing obituaries, choosing burial clothes, purchasing cemetery plots, and ordering headstones for my dearest and closest, most beloved friends on this earth. I’ve survived painting and selling my childhood home to complete strangers, yard-saling my family’s possessions, and 5 years of reliving an event I didn’t even see in my dreams. In slow motion.
I know my heart with never be the same,
But I’m telling myself I’ll be ok…
I’m never going to be that innocent, oblivious 27 year old ever again. And I’m never going to be the person that 27 year old would have been if May 20, 2006 had never happened. I’m battle-worn and world-weary. I am wounded. I am burned. I am scarred.
I am never going to forget.
But I am who I am.
I’ll never be the same.
But that’s ok.
If I feel sad, I’m just gonna be sad. If I’m happy, I’m just gonna just be happy. Right here, right now, right in this moment.
Because I’m gonna be ok.
Even on my weakest day,
I get a little bit stronger.
