Recently, I find I do not want to write anything. Another post sprinkled with the same old, same old whining and ranting about how difficult it is to live without Amy. Since the trapped door opened and swallowed me up against my will, I find myself wanting to rebel against every part of this new so-called journey. I have no real hope to offer or anything worthwhile to say at this so-called stage.
It is my personal opinion that the stages need to be modified or eliminated. Maybe grieving parents should have their own categories of stages. Early on I read something where a woman wrote losing a child is like someone ripped off one of your limbs without anesthesia because the pain is that horrific and you really have no clue how to carry on without your child, and the loss is like living without one of your limbs. Yet you eventually find a way but as others farther along say, you never get over it and you are never the same.
I recently admitted to a few friends that I feel like a freak, or maybe a misfit, living in this world without my daughter. There is no escaping the pain that follows me everywhere I go and shadows me regardless of what I am doing. There is an invisible pull which prevents me from being in sync with the world as well as the deep seeded sorrow which reminds me that all is not well in my world. Some days I feel like I am in a prison and serving a life sentence.
Some days are just more difficult than others. When people ask me the typical question you ask before and after a weekend or a holiday such as “Any good plans for the weekend?” I find myself wanting to scream “Hello! Did you forget my daughter died?!? Grief does not acknowledge weekends and holidays!”
I just want to weep when someone speaks to me as if my life is normal because as I scramble for something to say to answer them, it’s a reminder how everything has changed and weekends and holidays are just another day in my nightmare. Yet I do realize that its just what people say and in no way meant to minimize my tragedy. Yes, I am sympathetic to those who truly care about my family because I know you want to help me and I know my raw honesty is sometimes hard to take.
Before Devastation Day, Memorial Day held the promise of the smell of fresh cut grass and barbecues, longer days, more energy, vacation, trips to the beach, more time with friends and family. It was a carefree hopeful time. Amy loved 3 day weekends … Now 3 day weekends are forever changed just like every other day in my life. Maybe it won’t always feel this way, but I accept that it will never hold the same joy that it held before August 4.
When I come up for air, I am always reminded of the goodness in the world as some of my friends continue to show me amazing compassion and kindness and their friends, who only know about me via these wonderful friends, reach out to me to touch my wounded soul.
A few months ago, after being the recipient of two prayer/comfort shawls, I decided I was going to crochet comfort/prayer shawls in memory of Amy and distribute them on her birthday this August. I spread the word and thanks to my personal ambassadors, every week I receive a shawl made by a friend or relative of one of my friends. Even a few of my friends, including my sister, is learning how to crochet for the first time, so they can make a prayer/comfort shawl in memory of Amy. Never will I be able to put into words how much this means to me!
Recently I received a gift which I will treasure forever from a wonderful woman whom I have never met, who used her gift to create something beautiful for my family. The week before that, my good friend’s friend, again someone whom I have never met, thought of me when she visited Our Lady of Fatima in Portugal and prayed for us and brought us back a keepsake. I am grateful to everyone who wants to help us and steps willingly into this nightmare with me.
It’s so easy to feel the difference of those who check in because they really want to help versus those who feel obligated. The presence of those that truly care is invaluable. Your energy and spirit is uplifting. Thank you!!
Grief is like a poison that has to be released. Yesterday was the first day in which I didn’t find myself sobbing at some point. That’s not to say that I didn’t think about Amy every other minute. However, I went to bed only to wake up crying hysterically at 11:35 pm. So much for getting through my first day without crying.
As I remember thinking from Day One, no, this can’t be the worst thing that could ever happen because then there is no way I will ever survive. Month after month people reminded me and kept saying how this was the worst thing that could ever happen. Yet, how do they know? They didn’t lose any of their kids. What really sucks is that even the untouched know that it is the worst thing that could ever happen! I am waving my white flag and surrendering to that fight because they are correct. Welcome to my nightmare! It really is the worst thing that could ever happen.