07/17/2021
Happy Friday night from Me Camp!
I guess I want to tell you this, maybe for the women reading who are still bleeding out or wishing for magical new memories too: One thing I am learning about grief is that it doesn't have a clean ending only to be replaced by a new, shinier story. I mean, I want it to work that way but it doesn't.
So like, even here, even in this personal paradise of my own making, I get waylaid by sadness. The trigger is usually the same: happy families. When I see a mom and dad with kids running around them like puppies while they manage and laugh and hold little hands and look at each other with love for their little brood, it is like a spear to the heart.
I miss my family so much. We were that family for so long. Loud, funny, in it together, invincible. I wanted to be the parents and grandparents our kids and grandbabies came home to forever, their one safe and trustworthy space. I loved us together. That was my crew, Team Hatmaker, my own little dream come true. I had to close my eyes today when a family walked by with their rowdy teens and silly trash talk and the dad with his arm around his wife.
So what I am saying is that grief doesn't go away. It is more like a partial eclipse; not scorching the earth anymore but not gone either, just somewhat shrouded. At any rate, that is what it feels like at the one year mark.
So enjoy my special story here in Maine, and in my life, yes, every word is genuine, but please know I have not achieved some miraculous healing where the old is entirely gone and I stand here, dazzling, in the new.
I think we just learn to live with the sadness that will never, ever be completely erased even by new happiness. That is the work. To hold both, denying neither, letting it come when it does.
You aren't alone. We have loss and we have hope, all at the same time. They remain stubbornly overlapping. You don't have to release either.
In Bar Harbor, every window of every house is always open, day and night. We don't have air conditioning, only the Maine air. So you take in whatever is out there. I guess this is what we do, sisters; we leave all the windows open knowing that even after a howling storm, we'll also get the delicious breeze, and if we keep at it, the storms just blow in ever so often, less and less.
IG post below from my friend Nedra Tawwab who is a trustworthy guide through absolutely everything life has to throw at us.