Pressure, pushing down on me, pushing down on you

Back in my younger days - and those are amassing quickly now - I remember watching some pretty gifted running backs in football. Walter Payton, Tony Dorsett, Barry Sanders, and Emmitt Smith just to name a few. And I can remember the announcers as they would say, "You can't stop him, you can only hope to contain him!" This was usually said after a highlight reel run that would be played over and over. 

I have decided that grief is a lot like those talented athletes. You can't stop it, you can only hope to contain it. Even the best dam built has to allow water through occasionally. Pressure builds behind the containment walls and if that pressure isn't released on occasion the damage could be severe. So it is up to you, dear traveller, to determine how and when you are going to release that pressure and, more importantly I think, how you will hold that pressure back. 

When my most recent grief event occurred I remember thinking that I would be okay if I could just stay busy. My normal work day was a thing of the past since I found it extremely difficult to face my customers. So I began to involve myself with more of the behind the scenes projects. But, when I couldn't take it anymore I would look for more distractions. I bought season tickets to the University's football and both the men's and ladies' basketball games as well as the baseball games. I began working with a little "buddy ball" baseball team. I got even more involved in my church. And I went out to dinner every night with someone different. Male and female. From 6 years old to 81. I just had to stay busy. But no matter what distraction I gave myself I still felt the pain chipping away. And everywhere I turned there she was. Or, more to the fact, there she wasn't. There are few restaurants in my home town that I haven't cried in. I've misted up at several ballparks excusing myself to go to the concession stand just to collect myself (and a large Coca-cola in a souvenir cup).

Movies. Movies would be a good chance to be distracted, right? After all, if I just go to the "movies for men who like movies" I wouldn't be reminded of my loss. The newest in the Planet of the Apes series. Surely that would be okay. What, they mourn the death of someone? Well, who saw that coming? Let's try a kids' movie. Big Hero 6. That should be fun. What, we couldn't get through the first 15 minutes of the movie without someone dying. How about science fiction. Interstellar got good reviews. Let's try that one. Time travel. I'd love time travel. But then, even though the daughter was in her 80's she has to look at her father and get him out of the room because "no one should have to outlive their children." Well, shoot, those distractions didn't work. How about my favorite genre, comic book movies? Guardians of the Galaxy. That seems fun. Well, if you get past the part where (SPOILER ALERT) the mom dies in the beginning. Or when the big guy wants to destroy the being he feels is responsible for the deaths of his wife and daughter. Or especially when the raccoon character looks at the big guy and says, in a mocking tone, "My wife and daughter died, boo hoo hoo." Ok, maybe movies aren't a good distraction. 

Kids. Kids are always a great distraction for me. The hug or the unsolicited smile of a child when they first see you. Children are my number one distraction. They almost always lift my spirits. Even when, much to the dismay and embarrassment of their parent, they begin to ask innocent questions about where my daughter is and why she died. Or what happened to my wife. And, of course, with most innocent small children, one question leads to another. Oddly enough, these statements don't bring the tears. It's comforting to know that they care for me. 

Regardless the distraction, the pressure is always there. I hold it in but I can feel it building. It's like a water balloon that you fill and then think you can put just a little bit more water in it. And then just a little more. And then a little more. Until it bursts in your hands covering you with the water you had intended for your water balloon fight enemy. 

My water balloon usually bursts at night. Just before bed (which is when I wrote 90% of my blogs). As the overwhelming sense of loneliness cloaks you like the night sky. Sometimes I release a little pressure during the day. A little tear here and there. And sometimes it helps. But other times it's like sticking your thumb over the end of the water hose thereby increasing the pressure. It's something you learn to live with. 

An old acquaintance of mine saw me today and, after reintroducing herself, told me she was sorry for my loss - the more recent one I assume. She asked me how I was doing and I told her that I was making it. I have no other choice. There are other choices mind you, but I personally have no other choice. Other people go through trials as well and I never want to discount theirs. So I told her that "it is what it is" and that "we all have to go through a little trial now and then." Shortly afterward another friend who was standing nearby said (and I paraphrase), "No, not everyone has had to go through trials like you have." 

So, I'm taking my medicine and releasing the pressure slowly through the taps of my thumbs on my keypad as I write my blog. This is how I squeeze out a little pressure from this balloon I've been given. And, occasionally my balloon makes a funny sound as the pressure escapes. A high pitched whine or a low pitched "flatulant" sound that the kids all laugh at. But regardless of the sound, I'm just happy to have this opportunity to release this pressure. I hope you don't mind and I hope, more than anything that it puts things into perspective for you when you travel your grief road. Thanks for taking the time to read and, even more importantly, to share with others on this path. You help me through the lonely nights