Friday marked four months since Rip died. It was a beautiful almost spring day in Charleston, and for maybe five minutes on my drive home from work, I forgot about what happened. I was thinking about what Parke and I were doing this weekend, enjoying having the windows rolled down and whatever song was on the radio, and for the first time in months and months I just kind of got lost in my happiness. It was awful. Not the happy part, but the remembering part. It was the first time in approximately 120 days that Rip has not been at least in the back of my mind somewhere.
It's times like this that I am so glad I've started going to a wonderful counselor, who told me that I would have moments of "forgetting" (even though of course I will never really forget), who told me that is a normal, healthy part of the healing process but warned me that I would feel guilty afterwards.
Guilty and shocked and sad. I even felt disappointed in myself, how could I forget, even for a few minutes? I think this is what is hard to explain to other people too...I think about Rip all of the time. That was literally the first time I have forgotten in four months...and it felt like the worst thing I have ever done. Just another of those horribly mixed emotions that comes with grief. And this process of learning to move forward with my life, there is a certain level of comfort in being at rock bottom, being asked to let go of that comfort is almost more terrifying.
Life is moving forward, and for lack of other options I am moving with it, but it isn't always easy.