Thoughts on Grief

Grief.  That's a fun topic to share on, right?  As usual, I will warn you, you brought yourself here, and reading is optional:)  You are going to get tired of me, I know I am.  Do what you need to do to keep your day sunny and bright.  If that means dumping me on Facebook or steering clear of my thoughts or my person, please do.  I give you my permission.  Someone accused me of being addicted to social media, and writing for "likes." She also compared the death of my son to that of Jesus, and asked if I thought a present-day Mary would have "felt a focus to followers on Facebook or to pings on a blog." (Pings?)  As if I orchestrated this pain to get more likes?  She suggested I get off social media, but instead, she unfriended me.  So, problem solved.  The lesson here, not everyone should try to speak into the life of others, and certainly not without your permission. Furthermore, if it's hurtful to you in your current state, you don't have to allow it.  Or read it.  Now is the time to guard your heart and take care of yourself.

I started blogging because someone else gave me the idea and because I love to write. If by chance, you blog and earn a living at it, good for you! I write for myself, and if no one ever reads it, that's okay with me. I'll just change the name to Journal. It has morphed into therapy now, and I'm grateful that it was already in place. A God thing for sure.  {Some people post every day I'll have you know!}. I'm grateful for the comments that you send me telling me that you needed to hear what I had to say, or that you finally felt like someone was verbalizing how you were feeling, or that you want a closer relationship with the Father because of the words He has allowed me to pen.

So, after one month and three days, what does it look like for me?  It is spending every waking moment trying not to think about THE LOSS.  Does that mean I am not thinking about it?  Nope.  It consumes me. It is always with me.  I never set it down and walk away, I can't. Most of the time I can function through it, thankfully.  I do sleep, sometimes even well, and then I suppose I get a break.  I'm not remembering any dreams right now, so maybe I visit it then too, I can't be sure.  But it is a constant shadow that lives just outside my peripheral vision waiting to pop in and pull me under with the knowledge. My job right now is to fight that.  When I'm tired, or I'm not at home, it's much harder to navigate.  It's not just sad, it's a heaving sob just below the surface, and it wants out.  That's just how I am dealing with it, I'm not saying it's right or wrong.

I've been reading some books on grief, mainly to find out if I'm normal or not.  I guess I am (as much as I can be).  It's all right there.  The never-ending feeling of loss, the confusion, the fog, disbelief.  They tell me it's also normal to be angry. Does that mean I'm angry at God?  No.  Not in the least.  God is good, all the time.  That is no cliche!  If it wasn't for this faith, I'd be on my face, unable to move, to breath, to live. That is the truth.  I am angry because my son is gone.  He was supposed to outlive us.  He was not supposed to die on our watch.  That screams failure to me.  The failure that I feel is in knowing I couldn't fix it.  I'm angry because I miss him and I can't get to him, and I want him with me. I'm angry because it was my job to keep him safe.   How could I not have known he was slipping away and not wake up?  John would interject here and say "You had ONE job!" (Insert smile:) 

But you see, I also understand that if God would have wanted John to stay here, He would have woke me up.  He would have had the dog bark.  He would have dropped a vase, made the earth shake, or thrown me from my bed.  But, He was guarding our hearts, because the decision to keep John with Him had already been made.  He knew that John was coming home, and while He was preparing a party to welcome and receive him, He was also protecting us.  Had we gotten on the scene earlier and tried to save him to no avail, I don't think my heart could have taken it.  When we found him, it was obvious that he had been gone a few hours.  And he was peaceful, no signs of struggle or fear, just my sweet boy, sleeping. His soul already with Jesus, safe and sound.  He is completely himself now, not a slave to his thoughts or his addiction.  So I understand that anger is normal for this mama bear, and it's okay.  There's another book called "It's Okay Not To Be Okay", and I like that.

I know that God is walking through this with us, I know He holds us, I know he understands better than anyone.  Believing that is not a problem.  What is a problem, is trying to figure out how to live each moment with a tsunami building in my heart.  I am a moment away from a tidal surge, throwing me off balance and shaking the ground under my feet.  I can't reconcile the fact that my son is gone.  That I am "those people".  It's unfathomable to my brain. The advice I cherish is from those who have gone before me in this pain.  Remember, I'm not new to loss . . .I watched my mom and my sister pass from this life, and it was horrific and life-changing, but it wasn't like this.  Losing a child is a whole new ball of wax, and unless you've experienced it, I'm not sure that you can speak into it.  

A lovely and wise woman who has gone ahead of me said, "people want to know that you are okay, and that's what you tell them." I also re-read Kay Warren's post about her own loss and how people kept asking why she wasn't better yet.  They wanted her to go back to being her old self.  Folks, that isn't an option.  I am not the same person and I never will be.  I will carry this loss around with me for the rest of my days. Hopefully, my days won't all look like a natural disaster, but it will always be there, part of me.  Me missing him.  To quote a movie I saw the other night, "The darkness may never go away, but it won't always be this heavy."  I hope not.  Because it weighs a ton.

I've been asked what helps and what doesn't.  What words are good and which are not? I'm learning very quickly to not really answer that.  We've all probably said something to someone that didn't resonate with their pain or grief, and it made them feel worse. Heck, I said something recently that was unhelpful to someone struggling with a cancer diagnosis, and I've walked, and am currently walking that road with loved ones too!  But the mind perceives things differently when it's in pain. What's important for me to remember is to look at the spirit in which the words were said. The motivation behind the words is excellent.  It's kind and the intent is beautiful, and it is appreciated.  But, in all reality, what can possibly help?  

To that, I just say remembrance, kindness, prayer.   Please remember John, talk about him, ask about him, tell me stories about him. Be kind. I have a sign in my entry that says "Kindness Matters".  And I believe it. That you'd take the time to send a card or note, a call, a coffee, a text?  Priceless.  Prayer?  Yes, please! You are carrying us through this tragedy by offering prayers up to the Father. That is HUGE!  Also, please remember that every person handles grief differently and each situation is unique.  Grief is personal.  Being a "safe" person is worth its weight in gold.  In the book, "Please Be Patient, I'm Grieving", the author lists the qualities of a safe person:

• Doesn't evaluate, judge or belittle
• Doesn't try to fix the person or the situation
• Accepts the grieving person as they are
• Knows the greatest gift they can give is their presence
• Listens to the griever's heart, not just their words
• Has no agenda except to love the hurting person in the midst of their pain

I've been blessed with a few safe people and it means the world to me.  I've also been able to connect with other mom's who have lost children, and that helps my heart.  Those women also confirm that this thing is here to stay.  You'll survive it, but you'll never get over it, and I don't want to.  The books also confirm that decision making is hard, and it actually suggests you don't try, not for a while.  Certainly not big decisions, and don't give away your loved one's things, or do a lot of changing right away.  

They also say not to expect a person to be predictable, or to be able to voice what we need.  We literally don't know. That's why it was so amazing when people just came and did. You've graciously asked me to let you know when I'd like to see you, or have a visit, or tell you when I need something.  I can't.  Not only can I not remember who offered, or who is waiting to hear from me, but my personality is not one to ask. . .and while I enjoy the visits, I'm probably not going to initiate one.  It doesn't mean I don't like you or want to see you, I'm just trying to get through the day, and some days are hard days and I can't handle disappointing you or making you feel left out or uninvited.  

I can only answer for myself, but I hope it helps you understand and deal with others in a similar situation. We really are okay.  I am cooking (minimally) and cleaning. I'm getting my errands done and my groceries bought (possibly with a friend), and life is going on. So really, we are okay . . .we will be okay, we'll just be different.  Sub par.  We will also feel alone and lonely.  It won't be fixed with a room full of people, or a lunch date. I was already lonely, as I had figured out in a note I wrote called Revelation. I'm lonely for the ones that have gone ahead, that I can't call or hug or see. We are all lonely to a certain extent, but this type of loss puts us into a different place of loneliness.  Reality tells us that none of us are going to survive this life, we are headed to another one. But it still hurts. More than you can imagine. We still have broken hearts, and this heart can't be put back together.  And that's okay.  I'm okay.  I have to be.  John would want that.