Heavy

Grief is heavy. That’s what I thought to myself after I picked up a few groceries at the Albertsons out at Eastgate, walking toward the car. Grief is so heavy.

Yesterday was my oldest brother, Todd’s birthday. Herbert Todd Jeremy Moore. 8/9/66 He would have been 57 years old. His passing hit me like a ton of bricks last October when I was already weighted down by a separate ton. Grief doesn’t wait. Grief doesn’t respect previous grief. Grief doesn’t allow you to process all your other grief first. I’m not sad that it was Todd’s birthday, just sad he wasn’t around to celebrate it. I’m so thankful he was my big brother. Have mercy he could drive me bonkers in only the way a big brother can, but I knew he had my back. And he’s gone. How many times have I wanted to text him about what’s going on, to ask questions, to share laughs and recipes.

Our family was a family of six. Now there are just three of us. Emi, Craig, and me. All three of us hurt, but it’s really only fair for me to talk about mine. Every loss feels like all the other losses get piled together. Grandparents, Aunt Trudy, Mom, Dad, Todd, Bryan, Kyle each loss compounds the previous ones. The hurt is always there. Always.

Maybe that makes it clearer why I strive so hard to find and create beauty. In a weak moment of waxing poetic I told a friend “I am a joy nugget miner in a cavern of despair.” It kind of sounds like a line from a country song. I give permission to anyone to use it. HA! But it’s also really true. Gratitude, beauty, joy in small things, love, music, friendship, laughter–they don’t lessen the weight, but they help me forget for a little bit.

And here’s a song Todd liked and put on a mixed CD for me once. Enjoy!