How can it be possible that it’s been 14 months since Devastation Day?
If anyone followed me around 24/7, they would be surprised how many times I break down during the course of the day. Simple tasks which most don’t think twice about doing, are difficult for me now.
As I went up the escalator in a major department store, I had the weirdest flashback to many years ago when I was at a makeup counter at the mall and the woman waiting on me confessed she had just buried her son. I remember feeling so empathetic and spending a lot of time trying to listen compassionately. I also remember asking her why she was back to work so soon and she said she had no idea what to do with herself. In hindsight, she was clearly in shock. I promised her I would come and see her again sometime, but I didn’t. Shame on me for making that empty promise. Little did I know what the universe had in store for me as I met up with my girls after that discussion.
The more time that goes by, I realize how I do not know how to live without Amy. Sure, I am able to function better at times, but the light is still out inside of me.
On Tuesday, as I was driving to an appointment, I noticed the trees were starting to pop and the next thing I knew, I was crying hysterically. Fall is/was my favorite season and just looking at the trees took me back to so many Falls when I was able to live in a world with all of my children and appreciate the beauty of the fall foliage.
14 months later as I sit crying and writing on this freaking iPad, I wonder how much longer I can keep pushing myself to pretend I am okay. Sometimes I wish I had never started this blog but it’s the best listener available to me. Most people are back to don’t call us, we’ll call you, which hurts but then again I don’t care most of the time. I am such a walking contradiction.
I am tired of making excuses why some have chosen to turn their back on our family for no other reason than our situation is too sad. It’s like a compound punishment. I want to ask God once again what He is thinking and what His plan is for us? What goes on in their minds or how their ego is able to justify kicking a broken soul? Yet, I will never ever admit to these so-called friends how their inability to be kind to us has hurt us as who wants a friend who supports you out of obligation?
If only I could believe it won’t always hurt this much. If only I did not have to defend my right to grieve. If only I didn’t get so pissed off at people with their complete families who make thoughtless comments to me. When I shared two recent conversations with my grief counselor, she got angry too. Maybe I am not overly sensitive.
14 months of unimagineable pain and:
— I still cry every time I pull up in front of my home and see Amy’s bedroom window. The lifeless room inside of my home. So what am I supposed to do with that room when it’s filled with all of Amy’s things? Pack it up? Some may be able to pack their child’s stuff up, but I am not ready. I have only opened her closet two times in 14 months. Her sneakers — OMG her sneakers. If anyone would suggest I deal with that room now, I would never speak to them again. I know she isn’t there. Hell, the dog, even knows that.
— I still hate living in this area and wish my house would magically land somewhere over the rainbow. Will it always hurt to travel the roads which I traveled with Amy as all of our memories demand my attention and remind me who I have lost?
— Even though I am depressed, I am a functioning depressed grieving Mom. I want to retreat forever yet I know that would only drag me down more. The pathetic ramblings of a mother who continues to miss her youngest child …
— I wish that others did not have the power to hurt me.
— I wish when someone asked me how I was doing that I could say fine and mean it, instead of being offended by the question.
— I wish it was all a bad dream and I would wake up so relieved instead of crying as the reality hits me before my eyes are open.
— Yes, I still cry every day, numerous times.
— I still have to self coach myself to get out of bed even though I am awake most mornings before the birds. 14 months later, I am still saying: Come on, Dee, put your feet on the ground. Move. You can do it. But a little voice in my head says, no I cant. It’s too hard.
I am still not intentionally listening to music.
However, I can now go grocery shopping without crying each and every time. Amy’s favorite foods have retreated back to their shelf and no longer scream at me as I walk in their isle.
The grief fog isn’t as thick but it hasn’t completely lifted as I cannot read a book, follow the gps, or keep total track of my bills and payday.
I can be around people for longer periods of time, but most times I feel the need to bolt after an hour or so … Strangers make me uncomfortable because I cannot handle the questions like how many kids do you have?
I am still doing whatever I can to remind the world that my sweet girl was here.
14 months later, and I am still mourning Amy Marie and the world is beating the daylights out of me.
Always remembering Amy.