Bereavement - The Eleventh Month

What does month eleven look like?  How has grief changed, evolved?  To be honest, month eleven feels a whole lot like month one.  I have noticed that my game face is much harder to put on. That I can only handle being out in public for a few hours most days. I felt like I was at work a lot last month, and as it turned out on payday, I was literally there 6 hours. All month.  It felt like it was hard to get there, hard to concentrate, hard to complete the simplest tasks that I've been doing for 18 years.  

I find that my tears just fall from my face, abruptly and in unstoppable repetition.  They don't take a few moments to work up to a waterfall, they just start.  Stopping them has become increasingly more difficult.  I find that it's harder to write, still hard to read, and I feel very disconnected and incomplete.  I think a lot about the people in my life, but find it difficult to reach out to any of them.  Occasionally I will send a text and see if someone would like to get together, but it's rare, and I wish that wasn't the case.  I wish it was easy and that I didn't have to try so hard. I have found that I have had a lot of "stand-ups".  Good intentions, but I feel like I'm easy to reschedule.  Or not reschedule.  I don't see myself as being fun or entertaining - and I am sure I am not.  I am preoccupied.  Distracted.  I have a hard time really listening.  An even harder time remembering.  The day to day drama of the lives of those around me can at times feel very draining and trivial.  The hard things that my people are going through, too devasting.   I filter everything through a "loss" lens.  I have a 24/7 movie playing in my head - just off to the side, in my peripheral - that is constantly screaming at me "watch!"  It's all I can do to keep centered and focused on what's in front of me.  If I have been a wall builder in the past, I'm a fortress now.  Albeit a leaky one.

I'm surprised yet not surprised at the people I thought would remain in my life that have not, and shocked even more at the people that have come alongside and stayed.  I feel an ever-present pressure to be "normal" or "over it", to which I will defend my stance.  This isn't something I will get over.  This isn't something I can "move on" from.  I might get better at ignoring that replay, or speaking about him without losing it, or wearing my mask for longer periods of time, but I can assure you, losing a child is something that rips your heart in two and there is no "getting over it".  I miss my mom, I miss my sister - like crazy I miss them both.  But I ache for John.  I carried him, gave birth to him, spent almost 25 years worrying about him, loving him, helping and protecting him, cheering him on, just . . .being his mom.  There is a bond between a mother and a child that is not severed.  It remains.  It just has nowhere to go.  The tether has been ripped in two,  and I am lost.  He is in one place, I am in another, the bond remains, but I can't get to him. Can't get my arms around him.  

As we entered into this Fall season, memories and emotions have been rushing back for us all. Brian remembers every field John worked, the last place they conversed, the weather conditions.  It snowed that day - November 3rd. Brian pointed out to me the first field he combined after John died- we got him to stay home a couple days after the death.  He shouldn't have gone back out.  He sprained his ankle, had heart palpitations, he was a mess.  But I think he needed it. Today, he was sweeping up around the bins, remembering that that was the last job they did together that day at the farm. Today he worked alone, tears streaming down his face.

Video from November 3rd, 2017

Katie had a flashback to driving to the WCCO interview on a cold, windy night.  She has started attending a Griefshare group at her church.  Last Sunday, when I was considering leaving to go home, she said: "Please stay another night, Monday's are just so hard".  I stayed.  I hate Monday's too.

I'm trying to live in the house again after escaping to the lake for the last 6 months.  I literally purged every room in the house, except for John's.  I've driven truckloads of "stuff" into the thrift shop.  All these "things" I've held onto hold no appeal anymore.  I'm going to use those dishtowels my mom embroidered for me.  Why save them?  Why let the moths have them? I gave Kate my dining room table, sold the hutch, gave away dishes and china and glass.  I gathered up the baby books, photo albums and all things dear, for safe keeping.  I didn't look at the pictures or go through the baby clothes - it's too soon. But I clearly see what is important and what is not.

I too remember that cold snowy day.  How could we ever have imagined it would be our last night at home with him?  He told Brian to drive safe, the roads were slippery.  He told me he was on his way. He stopped me in the hallway just to give me a hug.  I'll never eat the chicken kiev and green beans meal from Hello Fresh again.  The autopsy took care of that.

Conflict and strife, drama and stuff - not important.  Kindness and love - everything.  Memories and photographs, priceless.  Faith - a life preserver.  Heaven, an exciting reward.  

October will go quickly and November will be here before we know it.  I'm dreading November.  The subpoenas came this week for the postponed trial.  (Dealer charged with 3rd Degree Murder). I've been watching the jail roster, and my heart breaks for every new drug arrest, every second, third and fourth arrest - the names I recognize and the ones I don't. I know that change will come, but at what cost?  November will bring the anniversary of John's death, Veterans Day, a trial, Brian's birthday, the start of the holiday season . . .so many hard things.  But, we will get through them as we have the last 334 days.  We will take one day at a time, one hour, one minute, whatever we need.  God gives us the grace for each day and we will persevere. 

I  joined four Facebook groups over the summer.  One for a book release - Lysa TerKeurst is releasing  "It Shouldn't Be This Way" on, of all days, November 13th, the trial start date.  I thought it was a sign, so I preordered it.  I also joined the discussion group - but I quickly found that most of the members were dealing with infidelity and divorce.  But in the midst of those, I saw one post that I couldn't get past.  She lost her daughter.  Her story hit me hard and the beautiful face of her daughter squeezed my heart.  I reached out to her via a Facebook message.  It took her a while to find it, and I left that group shortly after, but we connected and it's been such a blessing.  Having another mama to text, ask questions to, touch base with.  I can't wait to hear that southern accent in person one day.  She thinks we should write a book together, and I think that's a fabulous idea. In the meantime,  I'm still looking forward to reading Lysa's book, even if the group dynamic wasn't for me: 

  Click Here for a link to Amazon 

I also joined three groups for mother's who lost their children to a drug overdose.  I have to be having a really strong day to spend any amount of time in those groups.  If that doesn't mess your heart, nothing will.  Photo after photo of beautiful, talented, precious kids .  . . lost to substance abuse disorder.  Two hundred a day.  Two hundred a day.  And counting. Lord, help us.