The sky is blue, but so am I.

The sky is blue, but so am I.

summertime sadness and the realization that grief is unconditional

The weather influences what we do with the day, typically. If it’s sunny out, odds are you’d go for a bike ride instead of watch a movie. If it’s snowing, you’d probably watch a movie instead of going for a bike ride.

What we do during the day natrually has an effect on how we feel. Especially recurringly. If you fill your days with fun stuff and create happy moments, you’ll probably be a happier person.

Summertime holds the recipe for these happy days. Friends home. Swimming in the ocean. Watching the sunrise on the beach. Ice cream dates. No school. Baseball games. Vibrant natural colors. Summer coincides with feelings of joy.

Though, this first summer after experiencing a sudden, tragic loss, it’s hard to convert the “happy” moments to a feeling of genuine happiness. It’s just going through the motions, with no emotional reward.

It feels wrong to feel sad in the summertime. The world is bright with sunshine, but my mind is still plagued with a constant “thunderstorm”. I feel out of place, as if I stick out like a sore thumb. I know I don’t, but it feels that way.

It’s easier to handle sadness in the Winter and Fall. There’s comfort in the dreariness. The rain makes the tears feel welcomed. Colder, darker days make it feel okay to tuck away and hide. I loved these days during the first few months following the loss. I blended in with the seasonal depression people.

But, it’s not dreary anymore. I no longer blend in. It’s early August; the world is happy, and I should be too.

This is my first summer experiencing a sadness so deeply rooted that no ice cream cone can cheer me up.

I’ve realized that the emotional “thunderstorm” remains, no matter the season. Sadness doesn’t wait for the clouds to roll in.

I used to float in my pool and get jokingly annoyed when my dad’s cannonball splash would hit me. I would do anything for that to be the case this Summer.

Now, I float in the same pool and reminisce of when my dad did backflips into the deep end. The silence from the lack of his music is so loud. I can’t think of anything besides my unanswered questions.

I go to the ice cream parlor and think my dad’s order: one scoop of coffee in a waffle cone. I wish I could bring one home to him.

I drive to the beach and his favorite songs play in the car. I remember how we used to sing them in his Jeep together.

I watch the Phillies win and think of the games we went to together.

Everything is a reminder of what’s gone.

I’m going through the actions of things that create a fun, joyful summer day, but I’m still so blue.

I guess that’s just grief, but it’s been really shitty to realize that it doesn’t go away, even during “happy” times. The heart is forever heavy. The brain is forever trying to understand. Grief is unconditional.

Thanks for reading.