Notes on Grief 103

What a difference a day makes.  I loved roller coasters growing up but I want off this one and I want off NOW!

You can work SO hard on focusing on the positive, being strong, making plans and in the blink of an eye, a song, a gift, a memory causes your world to come crashing down around you.  And the worst part is that you are so RAW.  I've spoken about being wrapped in batting the first year, although it didn't feel that way then, I'd go back to that in a heartbeat.  I have no outer shell, no protective armor left.  When it hits, it hits hard and swift.  And I allow the emotions to come.  It can last for 5 minutes, or on a night like last night it was 8 hours.

Sleep is elusive, but when it comes, I never want to get out of bed.  It is safer there, but only if I am sleeping.  If I'm lying there chasing sleep it is a cross between a lovely walk down memory lane and a horror chamber.  Seeing the faces of those you have loved so deeply and never being able to speak with them, touch them, hug them is torturous.

I have realized that I am broken.  And I will heal, but I will retain that broken part within my body forever.  The shame of it is that someone with a hole so large within them should have at least lost some weight by now.  Talk about never catching a break!

I realize that while I will always carry the scars of this loss within me, it's my soul that needs protection so that it remains intact.  I fear becoming a bitter, angry, jealous, isolated individual if I can't manage this.  I've never been angry at God, but I am angry that my grandchildren no longer have a father, and that my daughter-in-law lost her husband, my son his brother.  I am angry that I wake up alone every morning.  I am angry that the perfect baby I gave birth to had to endure things no one alive should have had to.

I try to take my motivation from the two that I miss so desperately.  I told Dave's best friend just the other night that I know he kept the extent of his pain and suffering of his cancer hidden as much as possible from me.  He didn't want to burden me, he didn't want our time to be about that.  He was masterful at it.  I've never seen anyone so strong, with as much resolution as he had.  And through disappointment after disappointment in Adam's life, he was able to remain hopeful and give the best he had to his family, his country and his God.  He had amazing dreams.  He wanted to go back to active duty and talked often of it.  He wanted to buy and operate a farm.  He wanted to work on the railroad.  I don't think any of those things could have been physically possible for him, but I realized that crushing someone's dreams is tantamount to crushing their soul.  We all need hope and dreams to keep going.  There are times in the dark of the night that our hope and dreams are all we have to cling to.  I want to always be able to throw a lifeline, not cut it.

I need to learn to ask for help.  I have so many things that I can't manage alone, or won't manage alone.  Mainly outdoor things - a man's territory.  I need to landscape, I want a flagpole to be included in that landscaping.  I have a garbage disposal to install, a lamp post to fix, a fence to shore up and be stained.  I need to learn so much more than I want to right now.  But I'm sure that in figuring it all out and taking it a step at a time, I'll not only accomplish these things, in a year or five, but will have the gratification that comes from a job well done.  Or at least a job attempted.

One day I feel as if I'm on the top of a beautiful hill, looking out over all that is real in my life and it's a beautiful vista.  The next day I wake up and I'm in a dark, damp, dingy basement, trying to find a light source so I can find my way out.  And I spend way too much time on those days being resentful of my situation, wishing I could call for Dave or Adam who would answer, laughing, telling me the light switch is right at my shoulder.  All I have to do is turn it on.  But it's so much harder to find when you're alone and frightened in the dark.

And as I type this, one of the very songs that rips at my heart has come on the radio, "You Should Be Here" by Cole Swindell.  He couldn't say it better.  They should be here.

Without meaning any disrespect to anyone anywhere, I wonder if this is what being bipolar is like.  Back in the old days manic/depressive was the term.  Sure sounds familiar to me right now.  I know there are medications but then I go back to being numb.  At some point this just has to be dealt with.  Although I suppose as with any long trip, there is no reason to not stop to rest occasionally.  Even the Marines have reserves to send in because at some point, enough is enough.

There is no one to step in for me, nor would I want them to.  First, because I would wish this pain on no one and I mean no one.  Second, this is my personal, very intimate experience and I can't give it to anyone.  It is mine alone.  I couldn't explain it for anyone to take over nor would I want to relinquish all that has meant more than my own life to me.  Those men, along with my son Chad, my grandchildren, my daughter-in-laws, sisters, parents, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends have formed who I am.  We all have our own walk to walk and this is mine and I need to accept it with grace and dignity.  And the secret is I'll pour out anything else that isn't graceful or dignified here or privately.

I just didn't expect it to be such a strong, pounding surf this far into the game.  I dare not take my life jacket off yet.