Trantrum

I bought a book the other day, called "Healing After Loss: Daily Meditation for Working THrough Grief"  it's kinda like those flip calendars with quotes for the year.  I'm guilty of flipping through several random pages looking for anything relevant.  Today's blurb was kind of like the "hold sand loosely" theory, and I didn't like it, because I'm not there yet (It says something about holding grief loosely so that it can lift away cuz the one I love can not be broken...or something like that."

The one for Wednesday, however, caught my attention.  It says:

"Often with loss, especially if it has been sudden and untimely, we are tempted to dig in our heels at the last moment before the loss occurred. We will resist.  We do not consent.
It is a way of trying to hold on to the loved one, the person we knew before tragedy struck.  It is also a form of denial.  To rejoin life is to accept what has happened.  But it is unacceptable.  We will hold our breath, living in a suspended state of noncompliance, until the universe relents, changes it's mind---or at least apologizes, acknowledging it's crime.
This will not happen.  It is we who will be bypassed.  Better, as soon as possible, to realize that the terms are different now, and begin to live in this changed reality.  Anger is okay, but denial will hurt no one but me and those I love."

I'm conflicted about this.  Partially because I see so much of myself in it, and partially because I don't agree with parts of it entirely.  I have an issue with anyone (or anything in this case) that tells me to move forward as soon as possible...there is no time limit to grief, and what if the soonest that is possible is 20 years from now?  I relate because I have been stuck in October since October.  "Digging my heels in" as it says.  I don't know if "denial" is the word I would use though.  I KNOW that it happened.  I know that my baby is gone.  There's no denying it, the silence within my home and the daily trips to the cemetery serve as constant reminders.  I KNOW that it happened.  I am not ready to rejoin life, because that would mean accepting it...I agree and disagree...every day that I get up and go about life as "usual" I am unhappy and discontent all day long.  I sit at work or in traffic and scream at myself and everyone around me, "HOW THE HECK ARE WE JUST GOING ABOUT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?! SHES GONE! SHES GONE AND NOT ONE SINGLE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE ARE ACKNOWLEDGING THAT SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED!"  Seriously, every day I have this chat with myself.  I know that people know and acknowledge, but it's almsot offensive to see everyone going about their day like any other day when I can't. Selfish? Maybe. True story? Any mom who has lost her baby will know EXACTLY what I'm talking about.  "Anger is okay."  Good.  Glad to see it in black and white.  And now hopefully since it's on the blog everyone else will back off about it a little.  I am not the person I was, my tongue is sharper than it used to be, my patience are fewer, and sometimes my volume is louder.  It's not personal, to you.  Just to me.  Angry at myself, for taking her there.  Angry at the person, for obvious reasons.  FURIOUS at God, because I KNOW that He can perform miracles, and I want to know WHY HE DIDNT.  THe ONE person who could have done something, didn't.  It's frustrating. And yes, I'm a little angry about it.  This is not to say I'm not a believer, I have known God my whole life and am not about to turn my back now, because even through all the anger and frustration I am very aware that He is my only hope to ever see her again.  I'm just mad.  Denial...I honestly can't stand that word.  To me, I think that if I was in denial I'd be pretending she was still here, just at a friends house, or something.  I don't pretend she's here.  She's not here.  I still have a hard time believing that she's not coming back.  But I know it.  I have (with help of course) gone through and put her clothes and special toys in totes, I have folded all of her blankeys and put them in totes, I've gone through the motions of acknowledging her absence, and I continue to do so every day.  I set my alarm an extra ten minutes early so that I have that time to just lay in bed and be sad at the silence before I get up.

"We do not consent"
Absolutely not.  And I never will.  I will never in a zillion years sign the permission slip for her to be gone.  I don't believe that she truly is.  I believe that she's here all the time, as painful as it is to not see her baby face, I know that she's here I can feel it.  "Gone" means not coming back. She might not be coming back physically, but...my dog barks at nothing...the clouds look like angels...dragonflies show up...I haven't posted that story yet but I will...socks appear in the bottom of boxes...the right songs play at the right moments...shadows move across my living room (not in a supernatural creepy way)...I know she's here.  It doesn't make me miss her any less.  This kind of "here" will never ever be the same as the tangible holdable snugglable kind of here that she was just 3 and a half months ago.  But I won't consent to her being "gone."

"Begin to live in this changed reality"
I think, that beginning to live in the change means just that...lving. Breathing. Walking. Forcing food in our faces.  I don't think that a grieving parent should be obligated to really "live" and function until they are ready.  I always say when asked "How are you doing?" or "You are so strong! I could never keep going.."  I always say, "Suicide is not my answer, and breathing is involuntary."  I live because God for whatever reason hasn't let this completely crumble me yet.  My health has gone downhill significantly, but I'm still here.  So...I am living in this changed reality...in my own way, and my own time, and I am doing the best I can.

The frustrating this about this new reality, is that it's only my reality.  To those around me who haven't been through this, I'm "unavailable" "unmotivated" "spacey" "gloomy" "distant" "detached" just to quote a few...and all of those things are true...and if there was a way to describe it with any kind of relatable accuracy I would in a heartbeat, but there isn't.  I've heard it compared to losing an arm, or a leg.  I've heard it compared to a traumatic brain injury.  All of those, while I can see how one might try to compare, are nothing.  I can't even say that I wish they could walk a mile in my shoes, because I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.  Some people are built to last, and some aren't, and I'm afraid that the people who spend so much time worrying about how well I'm NOT functioning, just couldn't handle this if it were them.  So, just to put the acknowledgement out there: I KNOW IM DIFFERENT.  And I'm not sorry.  Because how truly tragic would it be for a person to lose a huge chunk of their soul and come out of it like nothing happened?  I am different because I'm not the same person.  There's a piece of me missing that can't be fixed with time, or medication, or therapy.  I'm not sick, and I'm not depressed.  I'm just sad, and broken.  It's not going to go away, it's not going to get better.  I will learn to live with it over what I can only imagine will be a VERY long time, but until then...this is what it is.  Tantrum over. Have a lovely week.