Skip to main content

Slip Sliding

Yesterday, I took the day off from work.  I needed time to do some things I don't ever get to do, a little time to relax and just be, work in the yard, bake a cake, read a book, run an errand.  Nothing important, other than for my well being. Over the course of this journey so far, I've often heard people ask another if she or he ever felt guilty for enjoying something, for laughing, for having fun and smiling. I never have really, I just thought I was successfully progressing through my grief and growing into the person I am to become. 
 
Oh stupid me.


Yesterday, my husband and I were riding in the truck, laughing and enjoying, truly enjoying each other's company.  I don't think I've felt anything like it since 2009.  I was happy to be spending the day with my husband, laughing with him, just being together. It was after the lighthearted laughter that I felt the cut of shame.  How could I?  How could I laugh and be happy in this world?  What wretched beast laughs in this life after loosing her only child?  I'm a horrible person, nothing better than a cur.


Ironically, I had thought I was doing pretty good with it all.  I could manage to work all day; even do some things when I got home.  But, it's as if the tide has shifted and the darkness is upon me again. It seems now when the wickedness of this death hits me, it hits me hard; viciously, violently, dangerously hard.  It knocks me to the ground and takes away everything. It blankets the light and suffocates any sliver of hope.  Every desire, every thought but of death, every wish and hope, every dream is boarded up and locked away, shrouded in the dark and oppressive weight of grief.


What makes it worse it seems is the beauty of spring and the new horizons that are opening for so many of the children in our lives. College graduations, graduate school, moving away, new jobs, beginning their lives...

 
I can't say goodbye. Not yet. Not now. I just can't.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Shrines

People have amassed shrines for years.   In Prague there is a wall dedicated to John Lennon; flowers and photos adorn the gates of Princess Diana’s home in London; an eternal flame shines for the unknown soldier; Shinto shrines celebrate wind, rain, mountains, trees and rivers; we bury our dead and mark the grave with a headstone….we want a marker of those things valuable and important to us.   That is how we feel about our dead children; we don’t want our children to be forgotten, we must remember them, others must remember them.   My son's boots are my shrine to him.   His boots are the only thing left from his accident.   They sit there, worn but whole, and I see him, I think of him, I remember him, I love him.   His boots do that for me….they create an instant recall of him, his person, his character, his life. Don’t tell me to put the boots away, don’t tell me that is it unhealthy to hold on to things that recall his memory…it is...

Hunger

There is a vast void in my heart right now; just emptiness.  I can't seem to collect my thoughts or make sense of much of anything.  I don't have any desires, no wishes, no hopes, just a body devoid of life.  It's like when you open the refrigerator and it's full of food and there is nothing in there you want to eat, so you shut the door and walk away yearning for something to satiate your hunger.  I'm hungry and I know there is plenty of food out there to ease my hunger, but I don't want any of it. Yes, at times I can laugh and smile at things in life and I believe it is essential to embrace this life for what it is....embrace those you love, laugh with those who entertain you, cry with those who need comfort, and dance with those who celebrate. It hurts to embrace it, but it also comforts, it is the ultimate paradox.  I receive comfort from helping others who are experiencing pain or grief, there is something palatable about being able to empathyze...

God Moment

I was thinking of when I created this blog and named it.... Living with Loss, I knew I would have to live with this loss, but at that time I wasn't living, I was surviving. It was a goal of sorts… but also a mission to keep breathing. It is only now, over six years since the death of my son that I have begun to know how to live again. The sharpness of those first months and years have softened and the pangs of grief strike less frequently, though when they do they rage with vengeance. What a journey of emotion these past six and half years have been from overwhelming and consuming grief, disbelief and shock, depression and fear, finally acceptance and the incorporation of the loss into our lives.  I remember in the first months after Wyatt's death, I would walk through the house and tell myself he had gone on a very long trip to a place far, far away. He was unable to contact me and I unable to contact him. I later learned counselors think this is a poor method for ...