So here I am, sitting at my laptop like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality, about to embark on this epic four-hour odyssey of pain, uncertainty, and cat hair. A long drive, you say. Sure, sounds relaxing, until you throw in the delightful cocktail of emotional turmoil, physical discomfort, and a battery that seems to be auditioning for the role of “Most Unreliable Power Source of the Year.” But hey, chaos is my co-pilot today, and I figure if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll probably cry. Or scream. Or both. So dragging my feet today seems to be the theme continued from the past few days.

I haven’t seen her in months. Not because I don’t want to, but because grief is like a stubborn stain you can’t quite scrub out,it lingers, it clings, and it makes you feel like you’re walking through molasses just trying to move forward. He was my friend, her husband, someone I knew for what feels like a lifetime, someone I counted on, leaned on, laughed with. And now, he’s gone. I haven’t even stepped foot in that house since it happened. His wife, well, she and I got close too as tends to happen. Of course. Loss makes relationships weird, doesn’t it? You become entwined in sadness and shared memories, and sometimes it feels like you’re carrying someone else’s sorrow along with your own.

The truth is, I’ve been avoiding this for months. Like a champ, honestly. Now two weeks of hemming and hawing, inventing excuses instead of reasons because let’s be real, excuses are much easier to come by when you’re terrified. The house feels like a shrine to everything I’ve lost, a tangible reminder of what was supposed to be. But here I am, determined to do this. Because if I don’t, it’ll hang over me like a storm cloud forever, and I know enough about delayed grief to understand the kind of havoc it wreaks. Trust me, I’ve got a PhD in denial, grief, and avoidance.

And then there’s the drive itself. Oh, the drive. A four-hour symphony of seat-induced agony because my back and my body have apparently decided they’re conspiring with Murphy’s Law these days. The last time I made this trip; I came out the other end feeling like I’d gone ten rounds with a prizefighter, and that was before the pain decided to upgrade itself from “mildly annoying” to “how long can I avoid meds.” Now, it feels like a dare. Can I survive four hours behind the wheel without yelling obscenities at the universe? Probably not. But hey, at least driving is a stim for me, thanks to the ASD brain wiring. If I weren’t soothed by the hum of the road and the illusion of control, I would not even be able to make this trip safely as the driver. I do not over estimate my skills, I am just aware of my limits and this would be there if I did not find driving such a soothing activity even if it can lay me flat in bed for days with pain and cussing any time I have to scratch my nose.

Speaking of safety, let’s talk about my car…or as I like to call it, the Rez Rocket. Somewhere in its labyrinthine electrical system, there’s a slow power drain. It’s like watching your phone battery tick down when you know you forgot your charger at home. It’s annoying, stressful, and just one more thing to add to the pile of chaos that is my life right now and to the need to fix on the car list. I keep imagining myself stranded by the side of the road, calling a sibling (because, yes, one of them lives nearby for most of the trip, I promise, this isn’t all doom and gloom), and trying to explain that my car decided it just needed a nap.

Oh, my sister. If there’s one silver lining in all of this, it’s knowing she’s close by. She’s one of the few people I can be around when life feels too overwhelming, someone who gets me without me having to explain the mess that is my brain. If I need a breather, she’s there. And I know I’ll probably need it. Because walking into that house isn’t just walking into a building, it’s walking into the weight of all the emotions I’ve been shoving into boxes labeled “Later.” And grief doesn’t like being ignored. It’s like a toddler throwing a tantrum when you won’t give it candy, it gets louder, messier, and harder to deal with the longer you wait. We didn’t grow up knowing each other yet our behaviors and looks are similar enough to pass as twins in some eerie ways at times despite only be half siblings. She get’s me though.

So yeah, as I write this, the tears are already threatening to spill over. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Crying before I even get there, like my emotions are trying to play spoiler for a movie I haven’t seen yet. And yet, it’s not ridiculous. It’s human. It’s messy. It’s me. It is chaos and I am learning to embrace chaos in other places then my little website in the corner of the vast space of the internet.

But you know what? Amidst the chaos, the fear, and the pain, there’s a tiny flicker of hope. Because as much as I’m scared across the board, scared of the drive, scared of the house, scared of myself, I’m also brave, wise, have humility, am honest, loving, respect, have wisdom on my side even if I am still learning to fully embrace the 7 grandfather teachings in all ways of my life. I realize as I type that I am brave enough to sit here and write this, brave enough to get in this car and go, brave enough to face whatever waits for me on the other side. And if I can find a way to laugh through the tears, to embrace the absurdity of life even when it feels unbearable, then maybe—just maybe—I’ll be okay. Either way I see another post on the other side coming.

So, here’s to the chaos. Here’s to the pain. Here’s to the grief and the healing and the weirdness of it all. And here’s to me, scared and determined and stubborn as hell, heading out for a long drive with a broken heart, a cranky car, and a pair of cats waiting for me at the end of it who love my service dog. Because sometimes, the only way to move forward is to dive headfirst into the storm and hope you come out the other side intact. Though to be fair my spirit name has to do with storms so I guess I am in my chaotic element. Wish me luck—I’m going to need it. Thank you for listening as well, err reading that is, it helps to know this will be seen.

What is something that you knew you had to face and yet left you doubting your ability to face it?