I had a moment alone today. I realized I don't often have them when I found myself in it. I've finished all the packing and preparation for our trip, Ella is at school and Zane is asleep. And now it's me, alone. I just sat down and cried. And then I cried some more and it just kept going. I'd try to stop but it feels like there is a never ending flood of tears that has been waiting to unleash itself. I'm anxious for Zane to wake up so I can step back into my role as mother, as needed care taker and tender of tasks. I see clearly how I'm operating like this with almost everyone in my life. I'm back in life, I see people, I answer questions, I fulfill my obligations but all from behind this thin wall that is just barely holding the tears in. I'll see a friend and feel the pressure behind my eyes increase as I fight for a sense of composure. In a phone call recently someone asked me simple but sincere questions and I found myself a complete mess. And for some reason it always surprises me. I always feel unguarded, like I'm never safe from the blow of raw emotion.
I just finished a book a friend gave me called Comfort by Ann Hood. I appreciated the raw honesty of this mother who lost her healthy five year old little girl. I appreciated her struggle and that she didn't try to give any of those silly answers that people try to give you thinking they are helping. In fact, the prologue of her book is an essay she wrote on all the lies she heard when it happened and probably the most comfort I have felt in these recent days:
"There are no words for the size of this grief. There are only lies.
You will see. Time heals.
In time you will sleep again and dream of beautiful things.
In time you will not miss her.
You will see.
Time heals."
Further on in the book I tagged this because it felt so very true: "Time passes and I am still not through it. Grief isn't something you get over. You live with it. You go on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a deadline, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me. Time has passed and I am living a life again, back in the world."
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2 comments:
When my dad died, our minister told my sister and I that the hurt would never go away, that you just learn to live with it...or something like that.
I agree with him and with what you said. The shock may pass, but the hole(s) are always there. I've just learned where they are. I visit them every once in a while...when I have a precious moment alone. But those moments are indeed precious and I wouldn't want to live with the holes without visiting them on occasion.
Hugs and more hugs,
K@
Your story has touched so many people and all I can say is thank you for sharing your baby Sully. I too weep for your loss; I agree that the hurt may never go away completely but hopefully be replaced by a comfort that comes from experience and from learning how to deal with the pain. Does that make sense? You are an inspiration to me and you write so beautifully, I can't imagine being so strong and going through what you've been through these past few months. Please know that you are not alone...there are people (strangers even!) like me who keep you and your family in our prayers. I think and hope in time you won't feel as raw as you may feel now in your moments alone...I send you a warm hug.
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