Almost six months later and I am still asking “why”? It will never make sense to me! There are no words of comfort or any cliches that soften this blow.
My life is unrecognizable. I survive in autopilot mode with a broken GPS which keeps getting me lost.
Joy is non-existent. Sorrow is plentiful. There is always this gigantic elephant in the room which is my grief that follows me everywhere I go. The elephant takes up so much space that there is no wiggle room for anything else. This elephant weighs a ton and just won’t go away!
I have heard many times in a grief class (yes, grief class –who knew there were grief classes) — anyway, they keep telling me to “lean into my grief”. Seriously! Lean into it? There is no leaning into anything. I think of leaning as a soft movement of your body while grief is a powerful knock out in the first round.
Recently, I heard of a woman who lost her husband a few years ago and sank into a deep depression. On paper, it would appear she had everything to live for but I did not know this woman so what do I know? This same woman tragically passed away. I hear many showed up at her funeral but I wonder how many showed up in her life as she was sinking.
This stranger’s tragic ending makes me pause and wonder if this could happen to me? I am distraught and even in a room full of people feel lonely and like the girl that showed up at a party in the wrong clothes or who was invited by mistake.
I received the “don’t call us, we’ll call you” memo from friends and family when watching me grieve became too much. Over time, I would probably react the same way. I don’t even like being me these days! So as I always say while I understand that this can happen, the result is still the same. Isolating and painful!
Maybe losing a child is just too much for others to deal with or watch as their loved one or friend changes. Maybe the friend they picked many years ago is now unrecognizable and they want to take their toys and find another sand box.
Even fellow grievers get the surveyors out to define their boundaries and post the no trespassing signs! The don’t call us, we’ll call you are everywhere! Yet, I understand as I believe in boundaries too but my only personal comment on this is make sure that the person is invading your boundary before the no trespassing sign goes up!
I can’t help but going back to this woman who lost her husband and the lonely grief and depression she had to endure. What was this woman to do? I can only wonder and feel so very sad at the possibility that the grief quick sand appears to have swallowed her up! That scares me!
Is it possible to find joy again after losing a child? It’s not like I am going to go out and find a replacement for Amy. I could search the earth far and wide and never find another Amy. She was one of a kind!
Is it possible to continue friendships when your lives are polar opposite and you have nothing in your toy box that’s interesting anymore and you function with a one track mind that is screaming every other second how much you want your daughter back?!?
I learned recently that the author of The Purpose Driven Life tragically lost his son to suicide. Though circumstances of their death was different, his son was the same age as Amy and passed away a few months before Amy. I remember thinking, Wow! How could someone who wrote such a powerful book have a depressed son who would take his life! Would God or the universe reward this man and save his son for the contribution he made to the world by writing that book? Guess it just doesn’t work that way?!
When I started this blog I knew it was for me. I read many times to journal this grief as a way to release it. Start a blog I heard! Huh? What is a blog and how do you do it? And why do others want to read all this sad crap? I am self conscious every time I post something that someone out there is thinking: here we go again…
Yep … Here we go again. I didn’t sleep last night and needed to release some of these thoughts.
Maybe I should post a disclaimer which says don’t mind me. I am just tired, vulnerable and worn out from trying to survive in a world for almost 6 months without a piece of my heart. Someone posted on another blog that losing a child is like getting a limb ripped off without anesthesia. Sadly, I can relate to that statement.
It is my sincere hope that the day will come when the pain isn’t so sharp and my mind isn’t so foggy and I am not so tormented. I know I will never ever be the same as some of the kindest people gently remind me. Just this week 5 very well meaning people confirmed that … Unfortunately, I know they are right.
And I know I will never ever get over losing my beautiful daughter but somewhere, some day, there has to be the hope that the same God/universe/whatever that stole away my sweet girl will restore some peace in my life again. I can only hope!