My honesty can be alarming to others and as I always say, thank goodness my kids do not read my blog.
Please know that I always have a choice when I write my posts. I could write what you want to hear, which would be lies, or I could continue to share my heart. Should you want me to mislead you into thinking things are getting better for me, please stop reading now.
Many times, I have wished that I could release my thoughts anonymously, but that darn google is so smart that it always recognizes me. Outside of this blog, I have nothing of substance to add to any conversation as I have a one track mind which is on automatic replay 24/7 – oh my God, Amy died.
When someone says “I read your blog” I feel embarrassed. Sometimes their tone is sympathetic and sometimes their tone is so irritating and condescending that I want to throw my stylus at them. Would they notice if I stopped talking? Would they care? Do I care? My answer would probably change minute to minute.
Time has not healed my broken heart. Time has not helped me to adjust to life without Amy. My frustration continues with those who are surprised by that fact. Please do not observe and evaluate me as the only thing that has changed a bit over the past 14 months is my ability to fool those who do not know me well. You may hear me laugh or see me smile, but you do not know my heart and the torment in my mind. You did not cause my daughter’s sudden death so I try my best not to make you too uncomfortable although I confess there are times when some of those whom I am forced to interact with say the most heartless things to me. But I realize now they are just idiots so I need to toughen up. What effing ever.
You do not know that I rarely sleep more than four hours a night or that I cry myself to sleep most nights. You have no idea that I cry to and from work each day in an effort to release the tears before I can enter my office. You have no idea how many times I have to pull over because I worry my hysteria will cause an accident. You do not know that I am on the brink of tears most of the day so don’t be fooled by my ability to function.
You do not know how special my relationship with Amy was and how I have no idea how I will get through another minute without her. I know she is gone yet I sometimes think when the dog gently pushes open my bedroom door that its Amy coming in to say good night — just like the good old days. You do not know that I still can’t believe that any of this nightmare happened. My tears are a testament that I know so no worries that I have become delusional.
What is causing this horrible shift where it’s so difficult to be among others? It’s not as though I don’t have nice friends … well the ones who have stuck around are sure nice people. Yet, put me in a situation with two or more people and I cannot handle the conversation. Is this what grief does to your social abilities? We went to a wedding last weekend and sat at a table with many lovely people yet I could not wait to bolt. Maybe the predictions I read in the early months are true – eventually I will have no friends.
Is this what depression feels like? Or is this what losing a child feels like? I am over tired and over stimulated for no other reason than it takes so much out of me to keep pushing. I don’t want to push any more.
Where does my grief end and I begin? Some days I wonder if there is anything left of me? Wednesday is my day off and the day where I allow myself to release the tears – all day if I need to do so. The grief has no beginning and no end. It has an automatic refill switch so regardless of how much you release, there is plenty more where that came from.
Surely I cried a million tears by now yet at any given time a fresh supply is waiting to be released. It always amazes me that I can generate so many tears. I still cry every single day – not always the deep sobbing, but weeping is just what I do. My car, aka my grief mobile, is where I shed the most tears outside of my home. Despite what you may think of me based on my postings, I am so tired of crying and wearing my heart on my sleeve.
It takes more and more energy to get through a day and meet the expectations which are required of me. You know, that smile and pretend game I am being forced to play for others.
I no longer fit into this world. Is there a place where grieving moms can go where they don’t feel like an alien?
How am I supposed to exist in a world without my daughter? No, seriously, someone tell me. I work, I am engaged in life, I try new things, I watch reality tv, I do good deeds, I love … but at the end of the day it still hurts so much it takes my breath away.
Drumroll … because here is the biggest question that is locked away and guarded by the Keeper of all answers: Why Amy? Why my family? Why, Why, Why?
I surrender. There are no answers. Bad stuff happens to good people and that’s just the way the cookie crumbles, right?
Universe, you win. I am too tired to keep fighting with the world for taking my daughter … well, for tonight anyway.
Always remembering Amy.