Prologue
I try to make my blog a hopeful place and not one of sadness. My overall goal is to help people who may have isolated themselves because of grief, to reach those who may feel like they are the only ones experiencing certain feelings. Doing so heals us both.
But at times, I need to share the uglier side of grief. The raw side. The side people don’t want to talk about or even think about.
Although today’s post has a positive message at the end, it is raw and full of emotion. It may read as a somewhat incoherent, stream-of-consciousness, emotional catharsis.
Sometimes, grief is like that.
The important thing to remember is that somehow we find the strength to keep going. Some days it’s just being able to get out of bed. Other days, life feels happy and rewarding again. Although grief is a constant companion, my life and my being are not defined by it.
My Constant Companion
That day.
The worst day of my life. The day I learned my son was dead by his own hand. That was the day I gained my new companion: Grief. It was he that drew the breath out of my lungs and knocked me to the floor, where I tucked myself into a ball and screamed until my throat felt like a raw, bleeding mess.
Time stopped. How long did I scream? A minute? An hour? When I stopped and looked up, I was face to face with Grief. From that day on, Grief seeped into my very soul, shattering my being.
And he never leaves my side.
At times, he is a raging, angry bear. Roaring, destroying, fiercely defending his territory. He can be like a tsunami, striking suddenly and unexpectedly, an enormous wave swallowing all in his path, leaving me drowning in sadness, desperately trying to save myself from the overwhelming attack.
Other times, he is a quiet companion, a pale ghost one can only sense with the heart. Felt, but not seen.
I laugh with you sometimes. I laugh at the irony of Nico dying first and the absurdness of trying to continue without him. The morbid, completely inappropriate humor that rattles through my brain… Like when people (who don’t know he’s dead) ask, “What is your son doing now?” in my head I answer, “Um, Pushing up daises??”
Grief knows no etiquette, it only knows…
persistence.
Grief-ever present, even as I laugh. I turn my head to see if you are watching. Do I have a right to smile, to laugh again? Will I be punished? I look to see your reaction.
None.
You are…? You are. You just are.
You do not judge, you do not comfort. You are just present, a fog that waxes and wanes but never completely lifts. The burden may lighten then grow heavy again, but you are here to stay.
No respite.
So we must co-exist. We must find our balance. I must negotiate the ebb and flow that you are. Feel the burn, rejoice in the lightness.
Just be. Just love. Just remember…
Haunting, taunting, soul sucking. Why? What did I do to deserve this? There is no justice-justice is not in the vocabulary of Grief. It has its own words:
solitude, faith, surrender…
But surrender does not mean giving up (not in the language of Grief). It means acceptance, on a deeper level. Letting go – of people, feelings… control.
Like an aging willow I must bend gracefully to Grief. Struggle? Struggle is a waste of energy. Fighting is futile and only hurts me more.
Let go…and be free.
