Grief is not unlike a game of ‘Stuck in the Mud’.
At first, everything is pretty crazy. People are running around everywhere. You are operating purely on adrenalin and somehow you manage to just keep on running, trying not to be caught by The Chaser.
There are viewings to attend. There are funerals, burials/cremations and wakes to organise. There are tears to be shed. There are future plans to be made. There are people to be met with. There are seemingly endless amounts of paperwork to be filled out. There are family and friends to be seen. There are commitments to be upheld. There are smiles to be faked. And for some of us, there are birthdays to be celebrated and family to farewell.
But after a while, not too long into the game, you find yourself slowing down. The adrenalin is wearing off and the other players are also beginning to tire. You find that your legs are starting to feel heavy and your chest is rapidly tightening.
Some of us decide that we don’t want to run anymore – we don’t want to play this game. So we stop. We surrender to The Chaser. We surrender to the mud. The rest of us try to keep on running, try to keep on moving…but eventually we can’t run anymore; we are spent. We are done.
Inevitably, The Chaser catches us and we are stuck in the mud. We lean over and try to breathe. Some of us are upset about being caught, but many of us welcome it. We welcome the chance to rest.
We wait for someone to free us.
It could be a friend, a parent, a sibling, a child, a pet. It could be God. Whoever it is, they help us out of the mud and set us back onto our feet. We start running again.
Some of us will run until the game is over, or until The Chaser retires. But some of us will get caught again, freed again, and maybe even caught again.
I guess that is the nature of the game . . .