The title says it all . And yes. I’m counting.
Grief is something I’ve been in the midst of since my dad passed away. And I kind of want to document it a little bit. If I can help someone else in the future, then maybe it’s worth it. And writing has always been calming for me.
I’m still sad. Extremely sad. If you haven’t lost a child, honestly what you imagine it’s like…multiply it by a million.
I said I don’t know how to live life without him and I still don’t. The nights are my worst times. My poor husband has seen multiple sides of my grief now. And I feel like a burden, but he assures me I’m not. I feel like people think I should be “moving on” now that the services are over. But I’m not moving on yet. Although I have donated his incontinence supplies and have someone in mind to give his push chair to as well as feeding supplies. That makes me feel better to be helping others because of him. I haven’t touched much of his room. I’m not afraid to go in there, but I find having the door closed makes it a little more bearable. And that’s ok.
I cry a lot. But not all the time. But definitely at random times. I laugh though too and I am going through the motions of living my life but I feel like a shell of myself at times. While other times I feel normal. My anxiety is bad in crowds who aren’t my people. But I’m still going out with Moe. He is my safe person. And I feel bad he has to be that person for what can only be for the rest of our lives now. But that’s ok too.
I worry about Kyle. He is doing well but I know he misses his brother. I send him memories on Snapchat of the two of them and I see him save them in his chat with me. But I want to coddle him and take care of him. And he’s 18. I tried to feel his forehead for a literal cold the other day and he had to remind me he is an adult. I don’t know how to not take care of someone yet. But taking care of myself seems really hard. That’s still ok.
I am sad because I lost my child. He may have been an adult but he was my child. Just a baby in my eyes and many other people’s eyes. I had to make a decision that no one should have to make for their child, although David gave me enough of a sign that he didn’t want the quality of life his body would be left with after his long stay in the hospital. But I hated making that choice. And it’s ok that I felt/still feel that way.
I miss him. So much that my heart can burst. But the fact is that it’s already shattered and I don’t know if it’s possible for those shattered pieces to burst any further. I actually still crave being able to hold him. But at the same time I’m not actually looking for him anymore. I know he’s not here. And that’s ok.
The holidays are coming up. I am all over the place. I knew it would be different long before David passed away. Our family will be split for the first time ever at Christmas (except when I lived out of the country for a few years) and we are trying to make new traditions. I didn’t realize I would have to make those new traditions without David as well as my dad. And that’s super hard. I’m going to do it, but I might need some moments to myself while making new memories.
I’m sad, but mad too. I’m sad and mad that he only had one Thanksgiving and one Christmas in our new home. I’m mad and sad when I go to a store and force myself to not look at baby toys for different things that I can put up that he would have liked (and I looked all year long because it was so rare to stumble on something new that he didn’t have). And I think that’s ok that I feel that too.
I’m putting a Christmas tree up in his room this year. Only with his ornaments, but I did ask each of my family to choose an ornament that makes them think of David to hang on the tree and we will decorate it at Thanksgiving this year. That way I can go in and see his ornaments from past years at a glance and remember those memories if I choose to. Will I do the same thing next year? I think so, but I won’t make any promises. And I don’t have to make promises.
Again. Grief is more than a roller coaster. And it’s different for everyone. And I am so sad. But you might still see me smiling and laughing. But the hurt is still there. It’s not going to go away. It’s unfair. And I wasn’t immune to losing a child. No one is. I wish I could change that so no one ever has to feel this pain.
With so many asking the only question they know how to ask me…”How are YOU?”, I just want to say…I’m ok. But I’m not actually OK. And that’s totally ok.
Many thanks to the ones who reach out daily. Every other day. Weekly. Once. It’s ok. I don’t know what to say to myself and you don’t have to know either. And that’s ok.