I keep writing things. I have all these files on my computer of things I have written and I can’t bear to post them. It sort of mirrors a lot of the way I am feeling right now. Both my husband and I seem to be having difficulty getting out. Hard to leave the house, figure out something to do. Easy to say no to activities or say yes and then not go.
Not sure who to call and ask to do anything. Feeling very hesitant to commit to anything. Then, annoyed when you accomplish nothing.
I have come to accept that almost everywhere I go there is either a reminder, visually or something someone says that is going to make me think about my son. There really does not need to be a reminder, but some things said about children, or off hand comments that I used to ignore or maybe even thought were funny strike me wrong. I know the person speaking does not have the point of reference I do.
I wonder if I am staying closeted away to avoid those circumstances. Not that it makes me think about my son less. The very idea of thinking about him less makes me nervous. My husband and daughter and I feel at times we are the only ones remembering him at all. I know his friends think of him, but maybe like me they try to keep it themselves.
How can someone be so utterly gone? Not even a ripple on the surface of the water to be found. When I feel anger at times it is directed towards the audacity of life to go on without noticing.
So many people die every day. Every day. Every one of those people have someone who notices, hopefully cares. Every one of those people are the child of someone whether living or dead. And I hate to admit it, but I don’t want to think about them.
I want to think about my one person. I want everyone to stop and say – yes indeed – your one person was the most important, wonderful, loving . . . etc. etc. etc. I’m no different from the people I get annoyed with! Why has this not made me more empathetic?
Well it did for a while. I scoured the news and read about ever incident of an accidental death or children dying. And I sat in my puddle for the day after reading it. So I knew I was not alone in my suffering, but I was alone with my particular suffering. Because try as I might I cannot get out of my own head. Not possible.
After a while reading about other’s losses wears your brain out from the grief. Like eating hot peppers – you may finally by eating them often enough build up a tolerance. Then is when I get spooked! What if I am getting used to the idea of my son being gone!
That idea is depressing. So the cycle spins around again.
And even as I am writing this, I am wondering to myself – should I even bother to post this? What difference does it really make? Do I feel any better having written it, or does it just confirm – document where I am? GPS – Grief Processing System.
Well, I am not above making fun of myself either. Sometimes my alter ego steps out and asks the women in the mirror what the heck she thinks she is doing? But then I always considered my son as part of my alter ego. So you can see how easy this is to get back to square one again.
I am here and he is not. I will be here until I am not here anymore. I will feel this way until I don’t feel this way anymore.
So, I have to work on making myself get out again. Leave myself an escape route – always an escape route – but go anyway. It takes so much energy sometimes there is hardly anything left once I get to where I am going. But maybe the getting there is the victory – though no one else will notice.