Grief Has Changed My Vibration

I watched a reel today about how losing a parent or sibling changes you.

And I felt it.

I've tried many times to explain how grief has changed me. Not my personality exactly. Not my beliefs. Not even the way I live my everyday life.

Just... me.

When my mom died, I felt completely out of sorts.

She had always been there. She was the person I knew I could depend on if I needed anything. It probably took me three years to figure out who I was in a world where she wasn't physically here anymore.

Eventually, I did.

I found my footing.

I learned this new version of life.

Then Jacque died.

And everything shifted again.

For an entire year, and I am not exaggerating, my first thought every morning was:

Jacque is dead.

Sometimes I hadn't even opened my eyes yet.

I'd simply become conscious and there it was.

Jacque isn't here on Earth with me today.

Every. Single. Morning.

Eventually that stopped being my first thought.

Not because I missed her less.

My brain, my heart, my vibration just finally learned the terrible truth it had apparently needed 365 mornings to understand.

And another timeline began.

Life before Jacque died.

Life after.

Then four months ago, we brought Dad home on hospice on a Friday afternoon.

By 10:00 the next morning, he was gone.

I needed more time.

I know we probably always think we need more time, but I did.

And once again, something inside me shifted.

I've struggled to explain exactly what changed each time.

Then today I watched that reel and thought about something I've written about before.

Energy. Vibration.

Every person has a presence in this world that is uniquely theirs.

Call it energy. Call it a vibration. Call it connection. Call it whatever makes sense to you.

I picture all of us moving through life with our own frequency, and certain people just resonate with ours.

And wouldn't our families be some of the strongest?

These are the people whose lives have been bouncing against ours since the beginning.

My mom.

Jacque.

My dad.

Three enormous energies in my world are no longer physically here.

And suddenly I realized:

Of course I feel different.

The world I am vibrating in isn't the same world anymore.

Jolene is still here. My girls are here. I have people I love deeply and people who love me.

But nobody replaces anybody else's energy.

That's the thing about grief.

We don't simply redistribute the love and fill the empty spot with someone else.

That space belonged to that person.

Maybe that's why grief changes us even when we can't point to exactly how we've changed.

Our personality may still be the same.

Our values may still be the same.

We still laugh at the same stupid things.

We still go to work.

Buy groceries.

Drink coffee.

Mow the lawn.

Invite friends over.

Live.

But the constellation around us has changed.

And when the things surrounding you move, you have to find your place again too.

Maybe that's what I've been doing all these years.

Recalibrating.

After Mom, I had to figure out how to be me without her energy beside mine.

After Jacque, I had to do it again.

And now Dad.

Again.

Maybe this is also part of getting older that nobody can adequately prepare us for.

More and more of the people who knew our earliest versions begin to leave.

The people who remember things we don't.

The people who can say, "Oh my gosh, remember when Mom..." and you don't have to explain who Mom was because she was their mom too.

The people who carry pieces of our history that nobody else can carry quite the same way.

And perhaps that's why our priorities begin changing too.

We become more careful about where we spend our energy because we understand its value differently.

I'm noticing that in myself.

I want less stuff.

Less chaos.

Less obligation for obligation's sake.

I want my girls.

I want Jolene.

I want my friends around my table.

I want coffee on my deck.

I want people laughing in my backyard.

I want meaningful conversations.

I want peace.

I want to spend whatever time I have here with people whose energy feels good next to mine.

And maybe the pull we sometimes feel toward the people who have gone before us isn't about wanting this life to end.

Maybe it's simply love continuing to pull in both directions.

I am still very much here.

Building a home.

Loving my girls.

Laughing with friends.

Figuring out who I am in yet another version of my life.

But part of my heart now belongs to people I can't reach from here.

Mom.

Jacque.

Dad.

Three energies that helped create mine.

Three missing vibrations I will probably feel for the rest of my life.

Maybe grief isn't learning how to stop feeling their absence.

Maybe it's learning how to keep vibrating in a world that feels different without them.

And maybe, somehow, carrying a little bit of their energy forward with me.

Just keep going.

Just keep loving.

Just keep living.

Just eat the crust.