When we first moved to Dallas, we made some colorful friends who were actors at Scarborough Renaissance Festival- King Henry and a Contessa, to be exact. During October, the Scarborough Fair grounds become a spooky maze of haunted houses, Scary-oke, expensive food vendors, and a throng of tweens looking to snuggle up to their crush or make a wax hand with their middle finger up.

Once, during this Halloween extravaganza, I was waiting for my sister, sitting on a hay bale alone facing the entrance gates with a haunted cemetery at my back. I saw my actor friend, Richard, who was dressed as a pirate zombie, and he meandered over to chat with me. We were having a lovely conversation when he suddenly leaned in and growled, “Do you like doggies?” It was abrupt and it was weird. While my brain was playing catch-up, I heard a growling sound to my left and I turned to see a scary dog man hovering over me beyond the cemetery fence. I screamed and launched off the hay bale, tripping on my feet and nailing Richard in the gonads, while he cackled and yelled something in pirate at me.

I knew that cemetery was there. I knew it was ‘haunted’. It shouldn’t have surprised me that someone would sneak up behind me to scare me.

But it did.

Isn’t grief just like that?

I’m not going to share details of my most recent source of grief. You nosy nellies are going to have to try and piece it together from my social media, like normal people. But, suffice it to say, it’s a Big Grief, not a little one like the Coke Icee machine wasn’t working at 7Eleven. Maybe it’s the biggest grief of my life thus far, which is saying a lot because we’ve grieved some big things.

To numb myself, I’ve been binging Project Runway seasons. When I’m not doing chores or playing with The Baby, I’ve been watching fashion designers try to make clothes out of construction site materials or design clothing for Australian male strippers. I’ve watched all 20 season of the regular show and I’m slowly making my way through Project Runway All-Stars.

It’s mind-numbing in the best way.

I had a counseling visit this week. While I was driving there, I was thinking that I didn’t have much to talk about. I’m feeling fine. But, as good counselors do, she drew my feelings out of me and I sobbed through the whole session.

I’m fine but I’m also really fucking sad. The holidays are supposed to be “happy” but right now, they feel like a reminder of what isn’t and what might not ever be again. That’s the thing about stupid grief. It doesn’t take much- a song, a smell, a story- and it rushes over us, taking us by surprise and kicking our ass. Like dummies, we know it’s there, looming just out of sight, but we choose to ignore it until we can’t anymore and it jumps out of the shadows, just like the stupid dog man.

Today, at least, I’m trying to be brave- to face my grief head-on, instead of trying to run from it. I want to turn to it and say, “I KNOW YOU’RE THERE. COME AT ME, BRO” so she can’t jump out at me when I least expect it and ruin Christmas morning or an annual visit with my gynecologist.

For all of you who are dealing with Grief the Sneaky Bitch, I stand in solidarity with you. Facing our grief, whatever the cause, isn’t easy but it’s good for us.