They say grieving is a process, and I think it's safe to say we've all either experienced this process on our own or have seen someone go through it. Losing Jesse's dad has been devastating. We still feel like we'll wake up one day and learn it was a horrendous nightmare. Something sweet and simple will remind us of him--a football commercial, a man walking down the street in suit and tie, a jar of peanut butter, the Daily Bread, a facial expression on Jesse's face. Such small things bring the emotions flooding back, leaving us incapable to blink. But then that moment passes, and we see that the world keeps moving, even if we don't feel like moving with it.
I've tried my best to stay strong for Jesse these past three months and five days. I haven't known what my role is in his grieving process, and I've tried to deal with my own grief alone as not to add to his pain. But in the past week, we both came to the conclusion that we need to grieve together. As a daughter-in-law, I didn't feel like I had the right to grieve with them. I only knew him for a short while, and while Gary welcomed me into his family with open arms, I still felt like I needed to take a back seat. I kept the house picked up, fed empty coffee cups, shared hugs all around, but still all the while grieved deeply on the inside so no one would have to take care of me.
This past week has been relieving. Instead of crying in the car and hastily wiping the evidence away before picking up Jesse, I cry on our couch in a warm embrace. When I see something that reminds me of Gary, I point it out so Jesse can enjoy it too. I'm learning that I can still be a source of encouragement and support, and perhaps it's even stronger now that we share our grief together. He leans on me, I lean on him.
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