I have been quiet lately, I know. I am struggling to maintain normalcy and sometimes it takes all I have to accomplish that. It seems that the blanket of grief that normally descends on me and lasts a few weeks at a time has decided to stay. I am tired. I am sad. I am not sure where it goes from here.
I think as it gets close to the four year anniversary of Kevin's death I am panicked a bit. Panicked because I should be healed more than I am. I feel different than I did four years ago, but no better. The pain and grief is just below the surface. A never-ending lump in my throat that shows no signs of leaving.
I wonder if something is wrong with me. Like I should have got my shit together by now. I still sometimes feel that there is a thick piece of glass between me and the rest of the world. I am standing behind it watching, wishing I could join in.
To be perfectly honest. I feel hopeless a lot of the time. I am not sure how much of that is depression and how much is grief, I am sure it is some of each.
For some reason the horrible night that Kevin died has been replaying in my mind. The code being called over the loud speaker, the thump of the defibrillator as the doctors tried to restart his heart, the look of fear and hopelessness in his pediatricians eyes…. It is all still there, and replays like it was yesterday. I am not sure why I do this, probably some form of self torture.
There have been days in the past where I feel a little bit of peace in regards to Kevin's death. I cling to those days- they give me hope that I will, someday, be okay again.
3 comments:
Grief doesn’t have a timeline, Dawn. There is no “where” that you should be, nor any specific “stage of grief” that you should have accomplished - ever. Those are things that sound great in textbooks, but just don’t apply in real life. Your journey is yours and yours alone. It’s the alone part that sucks, because even if others have experienced the loss of a child, it’s not the same as YOUR loss, and even though you and Matt both went through this, you experienced it and grieve for it differently. It’s lonely, it’s hard, and it just plain sucks. Don’t rush yourself. Know that there are boatloads of people who love you, and some of them are still grieving with you, in their own ways.
I think it's spring loaded, Dawn. It's always there and it could pop at any time. Don't be too hard on yourself - I wish I could tell you it gets better and goes away, but I can tell you it gets better, and it's very very very slow to fade, and even then, it's barely negligible...
Love and be loved by those here with you! What's inside you is yours alone.
You are not alone in your memories of that night. Just this morning, before reading your post, I woke up, and was right there, hearing those same things, feeling so terribly helpless as the hospital staff tried to get him stable enough to get on the helicopter. Time does not change those memories. I have to make myself think of other things,and remind myself how fortunate I am to have the love and support of our family.
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