Unpacking Grief

Yesterday I drove to Sand Hollow State Park in Utah (about 2.5 hours from Las Vegas) to camp and ride trails for the weekend with my Jeep club. I had been looking forward to this trip for weeks.

Let me tell you, this area is gorgeous. Red sand... red rocks... red mountains. A small reservoir surrounded by trails with ATVs and Jeeps buzzing around. It was magical.

I made it to our campsite, walked around a bit to snap some photos, then sat in my chair to soak it all in. Then it hit me. A wave of grief.

I couldn't stop crying. I was consumed with sadness. I realized I wasn't quite ready to be around a large group of people for a long period of time yet. As much as I wanted to get my own Jeep out on those red, sandy trails, I couldn't stay.

I'm grateful I know my limits. I'm grateful I know how to honor my feelings over "keeping up appearances". We all process grief differently and there is no reason to feel shame in that.

Let me tell you how hard it wasn't to get back on the road and drive 2.5 hours back home. I knew that was what I needed. It wasn't a panicked decision. I cried all the way to the Nevada border town of Mesquite. And then I felt safe again. I was home in Nevada, even though still another hour from actual home. But it didn't feel far. And when I got home, my ever supportive husband was waiting for me without judgment.
​
Honoring how I feel and what I need to do to support those feelings is an ever evolving process. Yesterday I did something that probably seemed irrational to some. And that's okay. I did what was right for me. It's my time. It's my journey. The only right way to grieve is the way that feels comfortable to me.