Jen's Journal

The thing about these bursts is that they happen when you start to think you’ll be okay. I was in the middle of a grocery store the first time I got one. It’s the most mundane of tasks that cause them for me.

In between aisle with all of the Gatorade, pop, and oversized chocolate bars the air was knocked out of my lungs, and my heartfelt fast and heavy in my chest. Of course, I couldn’t let my aunt or cousins know because how would I explain something like this to them?

Years ago, when my blood pressure rose higher than a balloon that flew too close to the sky, I was given a Coca-Cola and a chocolate bar to calm my nerves. I grabbed one, thinking that’s what was wrong, thinking that would make it better.

As I reached for the milk chocolate bar, I felt the tears build up in my eyes at the thought of my father having a few bars of candy after work, right before dinner. It never spoiled his appetite either. I like to think he lived eating the sweetest candy and the saltiest foods.

Before he even tasted his food, he would reach for the saltshaker, sprinkle his food two times over, then mix it all before finally taking a bite. All of this was going through my mind as my aunt walked away, moving on to the next aisle.

I swallowed the knot in my throat and just took the soda with me, still feeling off somehow. I talked about this with my therapist the next time I saw her. She smiled and nodded, and when I finished, she said this was completely normal.

She said it could be years from now, and I could still sometimes feel these “grief bursts” she called them. It happens because our minds have a way of remembering people in certain situations, as minor as they may seem.

He died in January 2016, and five years later, I still get them sometimes. It’s not often, and not nearly as painful, but they’re there. Now I think of them as a reminder of the life he lived, and while it still hurts, in the end all the memories I have of him are to cherish and to share.