Skip to main content

I call it Jello...

I've been a bit melancholy lately, so many thoughts run through my head....I don't even put them into words, I don't know if I could put them into words of any comprehensible manner. They are so fast and vicious, they overcome me and I begin to act as if the people around me know what I'm thinking, as if I've expressed my inner thoughts to them...of course I've not uttered a word. I feel like jello...nice solid outside but the minute its stuck with anything you realize it's just mush. It's as if time has allowed me to realize and understand things that it wouldn't allow me to do before now. So many things that while in the midst of being at Shands I could not comprehend have been illuminated to me now. It hurts to know the things that I was sheltered from before...it hurts to know those things that a parent would never want to know. For example, I've realized now that the "skin" on Wyat's arms was not him, it was not him at all, it was cadaver skin....Yes, I knew that at Shands, they told us...but now I realize how much of his body was burned and how absolutely horrific this whole ordeal was and oh God it hurts me to know what my beautiful, thoughtful, brave, intelligent, talented, handsome, wonderful son had to endure.  It's really too much for me to wrap my brain around...so I block it out.  I think any person who wishes to be sane and stay in the world of the living would too.  I hate that I have to push back the pain and horror of it all;  I hate that I can't just live my life as I had planned.  I hate that I can't see my son grow to adulthood.  I hate that I am in this place and can't change it, poweless to the events that run my existence. I don't want to control everything...I just want my son in my life.

To see the future in the faces of the children is so painful.

To see life in their eyes dancing with the joy of what lies before them....

Hope, future, learning, experiences, challenges, family, friends, life...

Life to live, hope to cherish, family and friends to love and the joy and challenge of becoming who they are to become...

Stolen from him, stolen from me, stolen from us, why?  I don't understand why.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Seeing God Where I am

O God, who created all peoples in your image, we thank you for the wonderful diversity of races and cultures in this world. Enrich our lives by ever-widening circles of fellowship, and show us your presence in those who differ most from us, until our knowledge of your love is made perfect in our love for all your children; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.   Carolyn A. Rose I've had the distinct privilege in life to have traveled to various places, some vastly different from my home, and some quite similar.  Regardless of the magnitude of differences, I can always feel the uniqueness of the place. After a while, certainly I long for the familiar comfort of home... but I always return with a fuller heart and a more open mind. Then it's like a siren song calling me back to seek more, ask more, learn more and inwardly digest it to build me into a more understanding and compassionate being.  In a class I am taking, we were posed this question: How have ...

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 ...

That Dust again...

The death of an only child leaves an indelible mark on the soul. There is a vacant place in living that is never filled, never eased. I know that now; if I live to be 110, it will be true then. When your only child dies it's one thing, when your only child dies before he had children of his own, it's another thing.  I'm not saying any loss of a child is greater than another; on the contrary, they all come with unique challenges. It's just that that when life prances around shouting "look at me, look at me" with the young boy walking around the lake holding his mom's hand, grandma tucking her granddaughter in at night, graduation ceremonies and proms, tournaments, plays and recitals, weddings, new jobs, and babies, they all make it so painfully clear how my time with all of that is over. Stolen. With most things in this life we have a choice, but not this. This is not my choice. This is so different from something we choose, it's not what job to take or...