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Journal entry on functioning grief

Updated: Aug 9, 2023

I am currently at a night market at my own set up booth. This is the second market I have been a vendor at. I have been planning on writing a blog or making an Instagram reel on how the markets have been for me or my tips for set up, inventory organization, etc.

However here I am writing a blog at my second market. It only just began so hardly anyone has come in just yet.

I prepped for this. I planned for this. I mean wow you don’t really know the effort that goes into being a vendor until you do it. Or at least that was true for me.

I even had the scary dream where I couldn’t seem to set up my table.. there were obstacles and everything moved in slow motion. Does every vendor have that dream at some point? Right of passage?

My family came and everyone is so supportive.

The event just started. The live music hasn’t even been set up yet.

My husband and daughter along with my sister and her daughter are outside eating.

So it’s just me and my sweet sonshine boy!

So it’s the silence and the calm amidst all the chaos that my life has been that is catching me off guard. the chaos has been a balance between planning my dads service, the actual service, our water pump for our house acting up every couple of weeks, launching different aspect of my business, being a stay at home mom, taking my kids to swim lessons.

So this sweet moment with my boy and the calmness right in the middle of the vulnerable action of this moment sitting here as a vendor: my art and work of my hands displayed in front of me.. it feels so bittersweet.

It’s the weight of missing my dad. It’s so often like a tsunami.

With every step of progress I wish he was here. I want so badly to call him and share things with him. I want him to be a part of my life and all its twists and turns.

And today it feels like a tsunami but rolls over so familiarly. I can find my breaths. I know I’m pressed but not crushed.

Especially when the sweetest little boy who was named after my dad, is here kissing on me.

Life’s seasons feel more like that now. A little sadness in every joy. A little salty in every sweet moment. A little pain with every hug.

But I suppose that’s functional grief for you. There was life before loosing my dad and there’s life now. Rainbow in every storm.

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