Grief at 26

Loss has a universal sound. It's a raw and guttural scream. I've only heard it three times in my life, that I can recall. Once when I was visiting an ICU, once when my father died, and once, a few weeks ago, when someone I love deeply lost someone they loved deeply.

That sound is ancient. It has the ability to make time stand still and become one simultaneously.

I lost my dad to suicide when I was 11. If my grief were a person it would be starting a career and thinking about a mortgage at this point. What I have come to understand about it within the last year or so, is that it no longer is something outside of me. My grief is me.

For years after my dad died I wanted to hang a sign around my neck that said "Dead Daddy Issues: Proceed with Caution". I felt like this thing that happened to me had to be told. It had to be witnessed. It had to be understood to understand me. It became my shield and my permission slip. Don't get too close to Sarah, she's a mess. Don't get mad at Sarah, she's a mess (for good reason).

It was something that happened to me. It was something that damaged me. It was something that made me less whole. And my grief and I did battle this way for decades.

I couldn't tell you what changed, or shifted, or evolved. What I can tell you is that it was like the title of my book changed from Sarah Grace Mohr: Messy Girl with a Dead Dad to Sarah Grace Mohr: A Woman with Many, Various Experiences. And while the dead dad chapter is REALLY BIG. It's just a chapter, not the whole story. And maybe the most beautiful part is, that the writing and perspective changed after that chapter, but the book didn't end. The story isn't over, and in fact, the story is made more special by the epic journey that was had.

The good news.... if you let your grief in, you can absorb it and make it something beautiful.

The bad news.... It's still grief.

Love you, SG