I remember a story from my childhood of a mischievous troll. He brought disaster and mayhem everywhere he went. You couldn’t see him in the moment but as you looked through your photos, he would be tucked away in one corner or another. He was the Where’s Waldo of childhood tragedy. The troll was defeated when the children realized he was living in the old camera they found in their grandma’s attic. They broke the camera and he was gone from their lives forever.
Grief is like that evil little troll. It is always with you even if other people can’t see it. It brings pain, unpredictability, and random acts of heartbreak.
People tell me I seem like I’m doing fine. I think that’s because I save my pain for myself. When I’m alone, I cry in the car, in the shower, when the lights are off, and in the bathroom. I don’t burden others by crying to them. Crying in front of them will make them feel bad but it won’t make me feel better. It will actually make me feel worse for bringing them low with me. I imagine other people seem “fine” to me too but they have their own trolls or goblins lurking in corners.