Did you ever read a post written by another griever and think “Wow, this writer can read my heart.” When I read Maria Kubitz blog, I find glimmers of hope despite not being in a place where I am able to write about hope as my words continue to be weighed down by heavy pain. When I write, I do intentionally choose to focus on the weight of my grief in an attempt to release the grief poison but have always remained open to as much healing as this unnatural lose holds available to this new, not so improved version of who I am without Amy.
Light is difficult for me to find — now anyway. When I attempt to write the hopeful healing post which many are waiting to read, I feel so inauthentic that I never publish the post. Read someone else’s blog if you are looking for a happy ending. Yet, Ms. Kubitz blog shares both the painful reality of losing a child while offering the possibility that it won’t always hurt this much. Even I need to be reminded that the “boulder” which Maria refers to in the post below will change over time.
My address book may have become shorter but it is true that the ones who have stuck around and continue to seek me out when I am unable to reach out on my own have indeed lifted my spirits.
I also confess I get irritated when people insinuate that I am strong because it feels similar to a patronizing pat on the head. There, there you broken mother … Or the assumption that I am strong is their permission or an excuse to leave me behind.
Define strong as you face and live with a nightmare in your past. Define strong as you carry on in world without someone whose existence was a key component in your ability to face the future and yes, to be happy. I will say it a billion times: True Happiness Is Not ALWAYS A Choice. Stand in my shoes before you assume otherwise.
When people apologize for not communicating with me for weeks, months, since the funeral, etc., I now feel tremendous irritation. My reaction to their absence in my life has changed. Gone is my reaction that they have forgotten about Amy or my family, but now when they check in, I view that interaction as a charity cause or a duty call and no longer an exchange between a friend whom they intentionally want to have in their life.
I hope that those of you who are standing in the midst of heavy grief will take the time to read the Alive in Memory blog. Us v. Them is also an excellent post which echoed how I feel at times. “Us” defined how I would personally refer to the world now. When I attempted to comment on that blog, Amy’s photo blocked my comment. Was that a sign I had said too much? Don’t I typically say too much?
Always remembering Amy.