There's a Little Girl Inside Me

And she helps carry my grief

I Found Her 

Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash

There’s a little girl inside of me and she’s keening, grieving the inevitable loss of Mr. J.  She has been mostly quiet, just sniffling and snuffling here and there.  But then sometimes she is louder.  It took me a while to realize that she is who I have been hearing.  Sometimes, she lets out a sob. On very rare occasions, she screams as though her heart has been ripped from her chest.  Which, let’s be honest, it has.  Now that I know she is present, I hear her more often.  Currently, she is sitting with her knees to her chest, and her head buried in her knees.  She is shaking silently, and snot is mixing with her tears.  

Mostly, she snuffles and sniffles, because the enormity of her grief scares her. 

Target Musings 

My sister came and stayed with Mr. J so I could go to Target.   I had one item on my list – salt for the sidewalk.  On my agenda, however, was something larger. I just wanted to walk around Target and pretend I was a normal person.  But I’m not a normal person and my perpetual grief goes with me wherever I go.  So, up and down the aisles I walked, my heart aching, as I pondered the amazing physicality of grief.  Nothing was unworthy of my interest.  Baby socks.  Fry pans. Vitamins.  But when I saw the beach shoes, I started crying out loud.  We’ll never go to the beach again.   

The Little Girl Broke Through 

As I was driving home, the little girl broke through – and how!  She started weeping.  As the tears streamed down my face, and I thought about the horribleness of it all, things escalated quickly.  From weeping to wailing in under a minute.  Driving in the dark, mindful of the taillights in front of me, I wailed and wailed.  Loud, painful screams ripped through the space of my car. I wondered at the noise. “It’s not me,” I reminded myself. “It’s her.” Briefly, I wondered if she was being overly dramatic. As I screamed. As I got closer to home, the wailing turned to whimpering.  

Things Get Quieter 

The grief seems further away the next day.  Was it the serious first cry I had, the day before?  Perhaps it was the yoga I did today?  I am not dwelling on the why right now, however, I will be doing yoga again.  While I was at Target, I bought myself a new yoga mat, block, and belt.  Today’s yoga fed my soul and helped me focus on “now.”  Then I took a shower and again focused on the now of the smell of my soap, the smoothness of my conditioner, and my pumice stone on my feet.  Then the oil on my skin, the roughness of the waffle towel, and my cozy clean clothes. 

Pigeon Pose 

The yoga continues.  I am choosing to believe it is the yoga, not the big cry, that made for a more balanced day, because I can’t possibly deal with great big sobs wracking through my body on the daily.  Yoga, however, I can handle.   

So there I am, going into pigeon pose, when the little girl inside me shows up.  And I let her out for a bit.  Tiny, whimper noises escape me.  As we went back into down dog, I gave that girl a stern talking to.  “Go away.  I’m not doing this today.”  Down into pigeon pose on the other side.  She came again. The first time, I wasn’t expecting her.  But this time I had already made it clear that she wasn’t welcome, and she showed up anyway.  More quiet whimpering.  Mr. J was in the other room, but awake.  I didn’t want to upset him.  “Now go away,” I told her as I went back into down dog.