🍞🧀
I'm an excellent grilled cheese sandwich maker.
I mean, really excellent.

I use multiple kinds of cheese and slow cook it on the stove so it's perfectly golden on the outside and amazingly meltiy on the inside.

But the thing about me and cooking is that I get impatient. So, I walk away and forget I am cooking something.
Therefore, I usually set a timer to remind myself that something is cooking.
Even grilled cheese.

Sometimes we think that grief is supposed to be on a timer, too.
We should be feeling something different by now.
We shouldn't still be feeling the same thing as we felt a year ago.
Ding! Next feeling!
Ding! That one is done.
Ding! The cheese is perfectly melted so let's move on!
Ding! Ding! Ding!

But grief doesn't work that way.
We can set the timer if we want, have a certain expectation of ourselves and our feelings, but that Ding! will sound and the cheese might not be melted yet. The bread might not quite be golden The grilled cheese isn't ready to be taken off the stove.

Our feelings are our feelings.
They weave in and out of each other. One day we're feeling capable and ready to move forward and the next day we're wondering how to take even one step.
One moment we are crying from a memory that flashed through our minds and the next moment we're taking a deep breath and thinking fondly of how much we love our person.

There are no stages in grief. Just things we feel. Stuff we experience.
It might go on a linear path, but most likely it will not.

I think that is beautiful, actually.

I don't need to worry about stages or milestones or markers in my grief.
I can let each emotion cook for as long as it needs.
There is no timer waiting to tell me that my grief should be finished by now.

There is no timer set for your grief.
Take the time. Notice the feelings. Give space for each of them. Give space for yourself.
I love you.
Ding!🛎