June is halfway through.  I am remembering an anniversary with my son, a storm that took down trees and a hike in Panthertown.  They are good memories.

There is inherent loneliness in intense grief.  There is a feeling that no one can understand regardless of how similar the circumstances.  Others have lost children – but the one experiencing the loss is a unique individual and the one lost is unique and the relationship between the two is unique though perhaps in the most subtle of ways.  Even if you could prove with data and measurements that in fact personalities and relationships repeat no one would believe it.  Locked up in our own little heads we cannot communicate well enough or bring ourselves to consider that what we have is not unique.

We have just learned the ultimate lesson about lack of control and yet we fumble on trying to control others that are left in our lives.   We do not change our behaviors while expecting others to be transformed.    Sticking points are stickier.  Painful behaviors, infuriating habits become more painful.  The magnifying glass does not get shattered  – it expands.

We may have a shift in the paradigm.  We may suddenly find things that were very important to us no longer matter.   We don’t even remember what their importance was based on.   We are puzzled when others still cling to those things.   It may cause us frustration.   We want to set those people down and pour into them the wisdom we have so painfully gained only to find them uninterested and unwilling to listen.   This may add to our frustration.  Don’t they understand?  The world has changed!  Yet we exercise old habits focused in new ways.

If my son were still alive our family would be behaving in relation to each other they way we did before.

Now without him to worry about, complain about, argue with and become frustrated with we are tempted to idealize him.  Perhaps we project attributes on him and on his future that are really not within the realm of what was possible, and he is not here to defend himself or his potential plans.

If the past is any predictor of future then he would have drifted and shifted through many ideas and potential plans before settling on one.  He would have kept us in the dark until a decision was made.  He never expressed worry about money or means to us.  Maybe he worried over those things.  His privacy seemed to be the most important thing to him.

Some people have expressed to me the thought that they hope they can “go out” living life they way they want- as they think he did.  I sort of understand that.

I am a more fearful person than my son.   I was raised by a fearful mother and I experience those pangs myself from time to time.

Locked up in my own head is my own particular set of griefs.  There are many things I wish I could have done differently , patterns that got set that I wish I could have recognized before they became so engrained.  It is not possible to alter that now.   I really don’t think I could have altered it at all because had he not have died in that accident we would be going on like we always have.

I try to shake off that thinking.  It is futile.

I have lost my son.  I know he loved me, but I do not have him to love me anymore.   He was protective of me.  I feel vulnerable.   He and I shared a sense of humor.  I find humor in many things but I miss his slant on it.   I feel insecure and exposed.  I miss his acceptance of me – unconditional acceptance.  He was a person around whom I could truly relax.

It is what rattles around in my head.   Around and around, evoking tears and sighs and frustrated anger.  I don’t know for sure what comes after this life, if anything.   I used to think I did.  I just don’t know.   I certainly hope if there is something else that my son can’t see me now  – it would upset him and that thought upsets me.  I don’t want to upset those left here with me either.   I try to keep it all tucked in.  It is part of that inherent loneliness I spoke of, this weird dance we do trying to protect each other because we feel inadequate to share or perhaps too selfish. . .

I really don’t think anyone truly knows, it is all speculation from a very biased point of view.

About pathfinder

Artist, Writer, Walking wounded.
This entry was posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Family, Friends and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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