I once heard grief is like a thumbprint. That no two are alike.
Now, more than ever, I really get that.
Grief is different for everyone.
After losing my mother a few months ago, I began my own roller coaster ride of grief.
Sometimes I felt terribly sad. That she, my one and only mother, had permanently left this world.
I didn’t care that she was almost 92. And had lived a long life. She was still my mother. And she was gone. Forever.
How could that possibly be? It shocked me to my core. And hurt like hell.
Today I took a magical walk with a sea otter.
I was out on the seawall in the a light spring rain thinking about my mother. Contemplating what was going to happen to her.
I’d just visited her a few days prior and knew in my heart she was not long for this world.
My son and I had gone to see her in the care facility she was living. We were shocked by the rapid decline she’d made since our last visit.
Her face looked gaunt and hollow. Her body frail and weak. Her skin ever so pale and delicate. Deep down some part of me knew that she was finally giving up the fight.
The other week I had an epiphany.
It was time for me to tell the truth. The real truth.
I’d been holding onto something that I needed to share. For the sake of my own sanity. And my health.
It’s ironic really.
As a Certified Life Coach it’s the last thing I’d recommend anyone do: hold onto a secret. Especially one that’s slowly eating away at you.
Like all secrets tend to do. Just as mine had been doing.