pain = grief trigger

People talk about the unexpected triggers that bring on sudden unexpected relapses into grief. It may be hearing a special song while shopping in the grocery store. Maybe it was the song you danced to at your wedding or the song that you both sang along with in the car.

A few days ago I saw a car-carrying truck -- the kind that delivers new cars to dealerships-- loaded up with cars with Hawaiian license plates!

So...?

See... no big response.

It's an inside joke... you wouldn't understand. It only belongs to Mike and me. When I saw the truck I thought about our joke, and I felt such an empty sadness.

When I stumble upon these unknown triggers , without warning I am plunged into varying degrees of sadness depending upon the strength of that trigger and what mood I was already in beforehand.

Tonight I dropped a big piece of metal (size and weight of a hammer) on my head. It is a piece of garage door opener. It was left sitting on top of a ladder in my garage (unbeknown to me) because my garage door opener needs a new part and is in the midst of getting repaired. I needed to move the ladder to get to a jug of vinegar that was sitting on the far side of the ladder. I lifted it and instantly felt the sharp blow followed by sound of crashing metal falling to the garage floor. I grabbed for my skull praying not to find blood. Head injuries bleed a lot... even minor cuts gush blood. I was so glad to find that my head remained dry, but in that instant a large bump had already formed on my head. The swelling is about 1 1/2 inches long and is hidden by my hair, but probably resembles a cheek with a jawbreaker stuffed behind it chipmunk style.

I'm icing it.

It hurt like hell, and it still is throbbing.

And I cried,

and cried,

and cried,

and cried,

but not because it hurt so badly that I couldn't hold back my tears. It is at moments like this one when if Mike were here everything would be ok.

...

So I'm glad there's not a gash, and I don't need to scare my kids by walking in from the garage with blood pouring down the side of my head. I don't need to do a late-night run to go get stitches. There's a lot to be thankful for. I'm pretty sure I don't have a concussion. I do, however, have a Mike-sized hole in my heart and yet again,

tonight I am reminded,

he

is

not

here.