As I commented on this grieving Mom’s blog, Mira eloquently writes in this post what I struggle to say. I could relate to every word she wrote. It was almost like I was reading about my own life now. I remember how I felt the first time someone threw a fruit basket at me and told me “no worries; you are strong, and you’ll get through this.” I have no choice but it has nothing at all to do with how strong I was prior to August 4.
It’s been 368 days since I’ve heard Melinda’s voice, laughed at her witty sense of humor, and even longer since I’ve held her in my arms, or massaged her hands when she’s had a headache. During those 368 days people have called me strong, brave, amazing, loving, giving, and so much more. I’ve been told they couldn’t have done this. I’ve been called a survivor, an exceptional mother, and even a hero. I Don’t Believe A Word of It!
I’ve been uncomfortable with the description of being strong from the first time I heard it. I don’t see myself as strong in any way. There is nothing strong about slamming your head and fists against a wall. There is nothing strong about sitting on the bathroom floor, throwing up between uncontrollable sobs. There is nothing strong about spending hours sitting on the sofa staring blankly at a television unable to…
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