During the recent holidays, I filled social media with pictures of my family enjoying our first Christmas together since our Rob died six years ago. The young adults and cousins enjoyed one another’s company and our many activities. My posts painted a perfect  time. 
What my friends did not see was my total relapse into deep grief. My chest hurt the entire time. I was paralyzed by the happy noise and chaos; the pressure of “making Christmas” was almost too much for me. I’m used to juggling a classroom of kindergartners. How could this be happening? I had put an emotional damper on everyone’s reunion. I’ve been weepy sad, mentally and physically fatigued and guilt-ridden ever since. 
Today marked the beginning of two of my grandkids’ inaugural season of basketball. I had waited for this day for so long. They were excited and looked absolutely adorable in their jerseys. A perfect morning and suddenly, my chest hurt again.  Oh, no, not again!  But this time, I moved...30 minutes of scrimmage with my littles in between their games. Honestly, I never felt better...alive!
So what gives? We are a basketball family. A great part of our family identity and our “coach” was in-absentia. This would have been his perfect day: his family and basketball. God, it hurts! Six more Saturdays without him. I’ll have to do a lot of moving. 
This afternoon, my grief mentor, left the most amazing and timely email . Click on it; you too may find it’s exactly what you need.