Lately I seem to have been afflicted with horseflies.  You know, those monsters that you can hear bouncing all around you . . . running into walls . . . buzzing overhead.  Then all of a sudden . . . BAM!! They take a chunk out of you and you scream.  When I was younger and a regular at the swimming pool, I learned real fast to dive, jump, or duck when I heard one. Otherwise . . .

Recently two ended up in my van—with me.  Fortunately, I hadn’t started driving yet or there would most assuredly have been an accident.  Instead, I had to figure out how to remove or demolish them without letting anymore in.  That was a challenge since I seemed to be surrounded.  The first one finally wised up and flew out of the window I had opened, but the other one . . . the other one was just stupid or obstinate or possibly both.  He completely ignored all the open windows (and believe me, there were plenty) and kept bouncing off the windshield.  In my search for a suitable weapon (my sandals would have been an excellent choice, if I’d actually thought of them) I found a branch from a pine tree.  Ever so quietly, I slipped into the driver’s seat while he was hanging upside down on the windshield, wondering why he couldn’t get out.  At what I thought was the opportune moment I smacked the glass with the branch—only to have pine bark and rotting wood land all over the dashboard.  And I missed.

Eventually I realized I was wearing my weapon, pulled off one of my sandals, and waited until he stuck his head out of the dashboard vent where he was hiding.  Side note—I tend to view my life as a series of sitcom moments.  With cameras rolling I sit, waiting for a horsefly to stick his head out of a vent so I can smack it, or crush it, or do something to neutralize the threat.  A camera zooms in for a close up of the villain and he’s sitting there laughing at me, waiting until I lower my guard so he can peek out then pull his head back in just as I swat.  Like Whack-a-Mole, but with bugs.   I actually did swing and miss a few times before I finally prevailed—after which I had to clean up pine bark mess.

Note to self:  Never use a rotting pine branch as a weapon.

As I was riding down the road, contemplating my dashboard and listening intently, making certain there were no lingering varmints in my vehicle, it occurred to me that I had the perfect analogy to Grief.  You know the loss is there but some days it isn’t so terrible.  You can hear it buzzing, ever so softly, in the background, but it isn’t loud enough to alarm you or interfere with your life.  But there are other days, days when that buzzing is too close, too loud, too terrifying to be ignored.  The loss demands your attention.  Actually, it demands your life, and the struggle to overcome is real and it’s hard and sometimes you wonder if you’ll manage to survive.

If a horsefly gets too close, I can usually escape, even if it means abandoning my vehicle and waiting it out.  But Grief doesn’t offer that option.  No matter where you go, you can’t escape the despair and the emptiness when they descend upon you.  The loss alters your life and, as a result, Grief becomes a permanent part of it.  Fortunately, there are a few weapons that will serve you well in the battle without leaving a mess in their wake.  For those who believe, there is faith.  Family is another, as are friends.  And then there is time.  The passage of time is one of the most powerful weapons you can have, yet even that can never completely neutralize the threat.  But given enough of it, you can begin to heal.

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