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It's Blue Pain

When Wyatt was a little boy and didn't feel well, he often struggled to explain what or where or how he hurt. What does it feel like, I would ask. "It's blue pain," he replied. As a mom, this frustrated me so because I knew something was ailing him, but "blue" pain didn't help me in determining what was wrong and how I could soothe him. I lamented over this many a time as he used this term for quite a while.  I finally determined it just meant he didn't feel well. As an adult we may have an off day where we just feel like hunkering down in the safety of a blanket, and escaping in the words of a good book. There are times we just need to be, not think, care, or worry... just be.

Blue pain is not obvious. Blue pain is encompassing and nefarious. Grief has become my blue pain.

Grief doesn't present itself so prominently any more, like a stomachache or headache;. This grief used to strut around like a rooster. I knew its presence, as did others. It was carved into my face. Like a headache, dull at the front of the brain, working down the forehead to the eye causing them to narrow in discomfort, shoulders slumped from the radiating pain. It's was unmistakable. "You have a headache," folks would ask. Yes, I do;  I knew it, they knew it, we all knew it was a headache. I wore my grief in the same manner, uncontrollable tears, fatigue, sadness, and all the characteristics of a grieving person were prominent in my outward appearance.

Blue pain, not so much. Blue pain has no outward appearance. Blue pain radiates from within.

So, when you're not quite sure what's wrong, when the grief accompanies you like an unwelcomed guest... you know it's ok for it to be there but you really wish it would go ahead and leave and someone asks, "are you ok?" Just respond with, "it's just blue pain."






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