Grief and Nostalgia Walk Into a Bar

aka, they get drunk, hug it out, and ugly cry.

This is by far the biggest topic I hate thinking about, which makes it the scariest to write about. But someone’s gotta do it. Right? Yup. So, I’ll just come out and say it:

Not knowing how to cook or bake the meals my parents do makes me paranoid. The view from their window makes me feel all kinds of things. Hell, even taking a shit at my parents’ house gets me teary-eyed. The thought of them eventually dying terrifies me. Mind you, they’re 60 and healthy-ish, all things considered. And also just a fifteen-minute drive away (lol). Why is this so embarrassing to admit. But I know, just KNOW (some of) y’all feel the exact same way.

I don’t know when it started, I can’t pinpoint the exact time or moment, I just know it sorta gradually came up after I moved out of my parent’s home a few years back.

Paired with nostalgia, this anticipatory or pre-grief is like the ultimate death sentence to me.

Watching those throwback slides on TikTok makes me bawl my eyes out. You know the ones I am talking about, with that eerie nostalgic instrumental sound and images that stab right into your chest. The other day I saw this carousel post of 1990s Barbies, and there she was, my favorite Barbie. I bawled like a baby. I don’t even know where she is now. Or when I last played with her. When I last put her down and never picked up again. I just can’t remember. Maybe my mum threw her away. Memory-wise, I just know I’ve lost chunks of my childhood, but the pieces that hit? They hit HARD, you guys.

Also, the other day I was washing dishes in the sink and some random metallic smell came up (don’t ask me what the hell that was about) and and image of my brother’s The Simpsons sticker album popped in my head. With those pieces you have to rub and smell. It was the exact same smell. Next thing I know, I am crying. Over a smell. Yup.

Physical photo albums? Get those things far away from me. I cannot for the life of me open a photo album from my younger years. I can feel the water faucet loading in the back of my eyes, ready to burst at its highest pressure. Just too many feels.

But I try not to linger. I don’t want these thoughts to pull me out of the current moment. It’s a struggle. So I sigh. And survive. (See what I did there?) Instead, I try to appreciate them for what they are: fond memories.

Then I try to ground myself, think of where I am right now. Will I forget these parts too? Are these my core memories, shaping my future life? I am not “happy” with where I am, or who I am right now entirely. (But lol srsly is anyone ever, be honest with me). It’s like I am changing constantly right now. In a state of changing, not being. My fiancé and I recently moved. He started a new job. We’re getting married soon. Things seem to come together, click into place. The further my life moves into this “picture perfect” ideal, the further I move away from my past. And it fucking terrifies me. It’s like a new me is forming, right in front of my eyes, and I can’t make it stop. I can’t make my parents stop aging. I can’t find my old barbie. 

I’ve always loved the quote from The Office: ”I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” I wanna tattoo those words on my eye sockets that’s how much it resonates with me. No but seriously. I feel like it has obviously already happened. My good old days. But how many more are there, still waiting for me? And how many of those will I not cherish enough? How many will I forget? Seriously. IF ONLY we knew we were in the best time of our life right WHILE IT WAS HAPPENING.

While I know I should be grateful for being able to experience this nostalgia and kind of grief in a way (I am trying to daily), the biggest question I have is: How do I stay in the moment without crying like a fetus? Still figuring that one out.

And maybe the answer is simple: My bittersweet takeaway from nostalgia and grief walking into a bar is that we should just try to be present as much as we possibly can. And when I feel a tear streaming down my face, for whatever silly or not-so-silly reason, I will just… let it? I guess. Whenever nostalgia and grief hit me in the face, I try to gently take their hands and squeeze them really hard. Get drunk, hug it out, and ugly cry.