It’s a cycle. Grief is a cycle that spins around and around and around. You wait for it to stop in one spot but it never does.
I’ve been trying to not write only about grief. But it is what I currently (and forever will) know. So I feel like I’m qualified to speak about it. And if someone doesn’t wanna read it-that’s great. Just close the tab and keep on scrolling 😀
I’m forever learning in this new space I’ve been in. He’s been gone for 445 days and there isn’t a day where I don’t think about him. I think about his smiles. His laughter. His crying. His sounds. His weight. His crooked pinkies. His webbed toes. His cowlicks. His blue eyes. His life.
Grit is a big part of grief. If someone says “you have a lot of grit”, it’s because I do. And I know I do. Because I keep showing up day after day after day for the people still in my physical life when some days all I can think about is the one I miss that’s in his eternal life.
I still have a child here on earth. And I am so incredibly proud of him. He may be an adult now, but you never stop taking care of your kids right? He will always need me-even though he thinks he already doesn’t. I drive him crazy. But I know he loves me and I hope one day he will appreciate the fight I fought for him and David the last 7 years. That was grit as well. I tried my best and I KNOW I didn’t leave my kids, I didn’t try to have zero physical custody, I didn’t only see them 3-4 days a month.
Grit is also fighting through that bitterness. There are things I will never forgive people for in the last several weeks of his life. And I can’t change it. But. I can try my best to recognize it and deal with it in a healthy way. Some days that requires a deep dig of the heels into the dirt to stop myself from letting that bitterness overshadow me, but it’s getting easier.
And that’s where the grace (and a great therapist) comes in. I held David 95% of the 9,003 days he lived in this world. I felt his weight. I heard his laughs. I changed his diapers and I made sure he was fed. I loved him. Every. Single. Day. I showed up for him. I know twenty-four years old is no longer a baby or a child. But in our case, David was mentally 6-9 months old. So he WAS indeed a baby. Do you remember the years your children were little? Sometimes not sleeping well? On a schedule? Needed fed? Your life revolved around them and not yourself? Eventually they grew out of that and became more independent. I never got that. I assumed I would spend the rest of my life caring for my infant adult and not knowing life beyond that much. Imagine that. To have that yanked from you within hours one night. After seeing improvements and then your loved is is just…..…gone.
My grace has become knowing that I can have joy even when I feel sorrow. It often goes hand in hand. Family get togethers-I’m happy, but I’m sad David isn’t there. Christmas-gift giving is one of my favorite things, and I love it, but David should have new hats and mirrors to play with. Some days I just give myself the grace to just feel the hurt. The weight on my heart is heavy with longing for him. I cry because occasionally I question if he was even real. And it’s only been just over a year. I feel guilty for that. For maybe thinking he was a dream. I’ve allowed myself the grace to know it’s OKAY to have the feelings of anger. Of sadness. And that bitterness. There is no specific time limit there. But I am not allowed to set up camp there indefinitely either. I feel. I talk about it. And then I try to climb from that hole and get back on solid ground.
I’m trying to “do for myself”. I really am. I struggle leaving my safe zone of my house but I am going to try better. Get a little healthier and maybe eat a little better. Try to just LIVE. (I’m taking a trip to see my mom soon. It’s the first time I’ve flown without Moe or one of my sisters in a while….I’ll have to be responsible for getting to where I’m going instead of just following him or them trustfully around the airport knowing I’ll get where I’m going because they don’t let me down. LOL) I’m still trying to figure out where I “fit in” in this world without the identity I knew for my entire adult life. I still feel like a special needs parent. But I don’t know where that fits without the special needs child physically here.
I will never stop grieving him. I’m really only surviving because I don’t have a choice. I have David sized holes inside of me and I won’t ever fill those.
It’s ok to always have grief. It’s really all about the grit and grace grief requires.
