There is a dress in my closet that I’ll probably never wear again. It’s a beautiful dress from a friend’s boutique. It carries the smell of the funeral home that I can never seem to get out.

I remember being told by my family that I needed to get a dress. After all, I hadn’t packed a formal black dress for Thanksgiving. I planned on stuffing my face with sweet potato casserole and showing off the pumpkin pie I made. Sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt were my outfit plans.

Kevin and I use to joke about how much we could eat during Thanksgiving (Let’s get real, this was on any given day) almost like a competition and I was ready to compete. Now, I am standing in my friend’s boutique looking for a black dress to wear to Kevin’s funeral. Does it need to be cute? Is this weird that I wanted to look good for his funeral? Showing my dress options to friends felt so surreal. Shouldn’t I be shopping for a wedding dress? Shouldn’t my family be here telling me how excited they are about the big day?

Constant reality checks like this are what my days consist of during grief. It feels like I am shamefully watching some crazy drama and getting pissed at the writer. This couple is so young! Go back to when they were in love and talking about their future. Except unlike the times when I do shamefully watch these movies – I’m talking to YOU Atonement – I can’t rewind and pretend I never saw the ending. This is now my reality. Navigating this sea of pain is now my task. 

You can ask any of my friends and they will tell you that I am pretty open about this grief. That doesn’t mean I am chatting it up all the time because I don’t think that is healthy. I do believe that it is an important piece of my healing process. In fact, I believe it’s my honor to talk about my pain. Kevin was a major part of my life, why wouldn’t I talk about it? And if I am able to help someone going through their own grief not feel alone in it, then thank God some good has come out of my pain. 

Till next time.