25 Feb, 2008. "The Day My Eyelids Had Boobjobs". (c)

Grieving is a very physical process. You learn the literal meaning of the word "heart-ache" - this deep, sternal ache that simply sits on your chest and feels like it will never leave.

You will cry. At first, my tears were virtually constant - a good portion of every hour was spent sobbing, wailing or just letting tears quietly dance down my cheeks. This is actually good though, because it allows you to really "let go", as it were - if that's what you need to do. Not everyone does.

But for those of us who do (especially us women), we come up with another problem...

Where on earth do you put mascara, onto eyes which are no longer makeup-friendly?

You see, I've always worn (at the very least) a coat of mascara. Usually eyeliner, too, and depending on the mood/time of day/moon phase/what's on TV, eyeshadow may or not also be present.

This leaves a problem, because when you've cried that much, something odd and quite disturbing happens. Your eyelids are swollen (think....really bad allergy, multiplied by a few rounds with Mike Tyson), and the delicate skin turns an alarming shade of...well, let me put it another way:

Luminous pink breast implants arrive from outer space, kidnap your eyelids and proceed to sit on your cheeks until further notice.

Sort of like this:

This phase does pass....at least, that's what I'm told. Until then, leave the mascara at home - it just can't compete with Luminous Pink Boobeye-lids!

(The hair, obviously, has fallen out some since your loss - this is also natural, apparently)
(The red Froot Loops masquerading as nostrils are from the same planet as the Alien Breast Implants, and are part of the same "anti-aesthetic conspiracy")

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Speaking of....

There is something of a taboo in our culture, about how we speak about our dead. Many of us feel a bit odd - if not downright disloyal - when we mention the not-so-good parts of our loved ones, and we feel utterly treacherous if we speak about their faults to strangers.

But why?

To speak about our loved ones in a less-than-saintly manner is normal - if not essential to our grieving journey. S/he knew that nobody was or is perfect...themselves included. Honestly? I think it actually does their memory a disservice if we ignore their less-than-perfect sides.

It's ok that your loved one pissed you off. It's absolutely fine that you screamed at each other on occasion, or that there were days where you just didn't like 'em too much. It's ok that his smelly farts/aversion to cutting her toenails/weird chest-hair patterns skeeved you from time to time. It's ok to talk about these things, too. Because by acknowledging these - very human - faults, you have absolute and irrefutable evidence that you loved this person, the good and the bad, completely whole-heartedly and accepted him/her for who he was. S/he was NOT a magazine cut-out! They were a real human being, not a saint.

And that's a priceless thing to know.

It's a gift to your loved one that is beyond measure.