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I meant to call you.

I meant to call you.

 

I suppose that is easier to say than it is to actually do sometimes. The calling part I mean.

 

We live in a world where technology has taken over our entire lives and even with the ability to call someone right at our fingertips we text, Snap or Zoom instead.

 

I saw the obituary or condolences for your loss cross my feed and instead of calling, I paused my scroll, said a small prayer for you and your family, and pushed on the “care button” instead.

 

But, I meant to call you.

 

I really did.

 

At least I had good intentions of doing so, that much I can promise you.

 

It’s just, well, I also lost someone recently and my own heart is still healing.

 

I am still working through my own grief and the loss of the ONLY other person who was on this planet and knew every last secret about me.

 

Losing her sent me on a roller coaster of emotions that I still can’t even put a name to.

 

Some days the grief hits me like a freight train going 120 miles an hour.

 

Stops me dead in my tracks and knocks the wind clean out of me.

 

Other days I’m actually myself for the first time in weeks and without warning it creeps in and surprises me in the craziest of ways.

 

A song that reminds me of her, or the smell of No Bake cookies, which actually makes me pause and smile because I just had a No Bake that was Gluten Free from Sugar Daddy Bakery down the street from the boutique.

 

It’s like she was there right beside me smiling when we were cashing out knowing I would make the connection later on.

 

It’s also not by chance that she appears in some way the very same day I sit down at a computer to write for the first time since the book launch.

 

It’s the little moments that get me through most days now….

 

Regardless, I meant to call you….

 

I tried hard to think of what I would say to you if I actually pushed the red button on my phone.

 

Would I tell you that I am praying for you? No, because how cliche and even worse it feels like such an empty thing that everyone seems to say at the death of another.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I know that people probably do pray, but let’s be honest shall we, out of the 1,000 people that comment that very thing, how many actually stopped what they were doing and ACTUALLY prayed for you and your current situation.

 

So no, I don’t want to just tell you that I am praying for you.

 

What I wanted to say, and why I wanted to call you is to let you know that I would be praying WITH you.

 

 And yet, I still didn’t call.

 

I hope you know in your heart that me not calling isn’t me not acknowledging your loss or grief, I just don’t have the ability to lie to you and tell you it will get easier.

 

The truth is, grief sucks, and if you let it, it will consume every fiber of your being before you even realize what is happening.

 

It will be the most invasive thing you have ever encountered.

 

It will show up unannounced, uninvited, and with no regard for your daily schedule or life.

 

It will hit at the most inopportune of times.

 

It doesn’t care if you are at a concert, a kid’s ball game, a family function, or almost asleep tucked in your bed.

 

It doesn’t care your place in the community, how many followers you have, what your status is or how you take your coffee.

 

It swallows you whole and sends this blanket over top of your life that would crush you under the weight of it all if you would just take one more deep breath in.

 

Grief is definitely the most evil of all the villains we endure in our lifetimes, but no one tells us that growing up.

 

No one takes the time to prepare us for what is to come, because no one actually knows what to do with or how to properly handle grief.

 

We all know that we don’t want to keep it.

We know it isn’t healthy, and we also know we can’t just close the door on it and that will be the end of it.

 

It ALWAYS comes back.

 

Apparently, it missed the memo that stalking is illegal in all 50 states.

 

Anyway, I meant to call you.

 

In fact, I truly wanted to call you, but to be honest I don’t have the right words to say or even how to say them.

 

I want to hug you, but maybe you aren’t ready for that just yet.

 

I want you to know that I am here for you.

 

I even typed-out and entire message to you, it didn’t seem like the right words so, I deleted it instead.

 

Multiple times to be perfectly honest with you.

 

I wish I knew the words to take away the hurt.

 

The right words that will hopefully plug the hole in your heart that was just ripped wide open.

 

The same heart that is now shooting all of your feelings and emotions out into the wind before you even have a chance to catch them or your breath from the blow that just blindsided you out of nowhere.

 

But, I don’t have the right words to fix your current situation, and for that I am so sorry.

 

Listen, I meant to call you.

 

Please don’t take my lack of reaching out to mean that I don’t love you, or that I don’t care what you and your family are going through. Because I do. In fact, I care more than you will probably ever realize.

 

I care because while I may not know precisely what you are feeling, I have a very good idea.

 

I care because I know there are moments when the grief will hit you at the most random of times and you will have to fight to pull yourself back together, all to put on a face that the rest of the world sees as brave.

 

I see you. I promise!

 

I care because I know there are no words that will fix the hole in your heart, and I care because I have been in your shoes the moments after when nothing anyone says or does will fix, numb, or take away the pain you’re feeling.

 

I care because I live through the moments of insanely heavy grief that want so badly for me to hold on and not move forward.

 

The weight of it all almost crushed me to the point that I thought my rib cage would shatter into pieces, but it didn’t, and yet somehow, I survived.

 

I survived it all, and I wanted to tell you that so badly, I meant to call you actually.

 

I wanted you to hear those words and know in your heart that it will all be ok.

 

At this very moment, I know it probably doesn’t feel that way.

 

I promise you that one day it will, just please don’t give up hope in that one day coming.

 

I want to tell you that when you are ready, therapy is a seriously great thing to look into.

 

In that same breath, I want to also prepare you for all that therapy will bring.

 

It is going to force you to open up ALL your wounds in order to fully and properly heal.

 

It won’t be easy, and some days it is going to hurt like hell to work through it all.

 

It’s ok. Do it anyway.

 

I want to tell you that there will be days where you won’t want to do anything at all, and even the smallest of tasks will become the hardest of things for you to accomplish.

 

Try to do them anyway.

 

I meant to call you.

 

I wanted to, and I still want to.

 

I want to call you and tell you to come here.

 

Come here, lay in bed with me and watch the ceiling fan go in circles while we try to figure out what made them so special that they got to go first, or what we both need to repent for in order for us to also get an invitation to go home.

 

I truly meant to call you, I promise you I did.

 

I meant to call you to tell you all of the things, but I just haven’t brought myself to do it just yet.

 

My own grief and broken heart is currently in such a tender place that I worry if I take on any more weight it will simply shatter into millions of pieces.

 

So, I don’t call you, and it’s because I can’t just yet.

 

One day I will feel normal again.

 

One day going out to breakfast at her favorite place just so I can feel her presence won’t make my heart ache anymore, but today is not that day.

 

One day I will be able to tell stories again without tears streaming down my cheeks or sobs escaping my body when someone asks me how I handled it all and am still standing, but again those days are few and far between.

 

One day I won’t miss all the functions I am invited to because I can finally openly speak about her when someone asks how I am doing with it all. I just don’t see that happening anytime soon, but you must know that I truly am trying.

 

Trying in the best way that I know how to cope.

 

Raw, straight to the point, dealing with it as it comes in waves to the absolute best of my ability, trying.

 

Look, I know right now you don’t want to hear that it will all be ok, that I am praying for you, and that if you need anything, anything at all please don’t hesitate to call.

 

I know this because I needed ALL THE THINGS in all the moments, and I hesitated to call because I didn’t want to burden someone else with my grief.

 

I know these things because you and I both know we can’t just pray away the pain, heartache, grief, guilt, any of it, not right away anyway.

 

I know because its super, duper hard to hold on during the days when it feels like your whole entire world is crashing down around you.

 

I know because on those days all you want to do is lay in bed in the peace and quiet.

 

Lay there while your tired soul is working so hard at healing itself, but is also hurting all in the same breath.

 

I know, and because I know, I meant to call you.

 

I make no promises, and I won’t sugar coat it and tell you that it gets easier with each passing day.

 

That isn’t how grief works.

 

Sometimes it brings depression, loneliness, heartache and a thousand other emotions I don’t quite have the time to name out individually.

 

Just know that I know.

 

I can’t tell you when it subsides, how it dissipates, or if it fully ever does.

 

Be patient with me as I am still navigating through all of these very things.

 

What I can tell you is that one day you will wake up and it just doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

 

I’m not saying it fully goes away, I’m saying it just doesn’t hurt as much as it once did.

 

Let those days, the ones where it hurts a little less, be the ones that lead you like a beacon through the coldest and darkest of moments.

 

I say it like that because some days what your experiencing will make you feel like you are completely alone in this world, and because I know this, I meant to call you.

 

I meant to call you to tell you that you are not alone in all your enduring, but I just haven’t yet.

 

Believe me when I tell you that I want to, I  am just not quite there yet.

 

Know that I truly am praying for you, and I am doing so knowing that what you are also enduring is similar to all that I have already been through.

 

I’ll never pretend to know precisely how your feeling, but just know that you have more people in this world who can relate to you than you will probably ever know.

 

I meant to call you, and one day I will get around to doing just that.

 

I pray and hope that you heal from the things that you can’t and won’t talk about right away.

 

Take the time to process.

 

Take the time to heal.

 

Take the time to breathe.

 

Take the time to just BE for a moment as you work to navigate your way forward.

 

Most of all, take time to know and believe in your heart that it is ok, to NOT be ok.

 

Don’t ever let ANYONE tell you how to heal.

 

Take time to live in those not ok moments, just don’t set up shop or live there.

 

Please just know that if and when you begin to heal yourself and you ever mean to call me back and can’t, I won’t take it personal or to heart when I don’t always hear from you.

 

So, I wanted you to know that I saw/heard about your loss and I love you more than you will ever know.

 

I meant to call you, but I can’t just yet, but one day soon I will, I promise you.

 

Jesus & I Love You!   

 

           

 

           

           

1 comment

  • This is so beautiful Rebecca. It describes grief exactly how I imagine most of us deal with it. Certainly makes me want to call a few people. ♥️

    Heather Kappell

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