Wednesday's Woe - The Family Get Together that Included More than Just Family

"There is a feeling of disbelief that comes over you, that takes over, and you kind of go through the motions. You do what you're supposed to do, but in fact you're not there at all."

~Frederick Barthelme 

Wednesday's Woe

The Family Get Together that Included 

More than Just Family

"The loss of a future eroded the present. The long shadow of the past haunted the moment. I lived in fear – fear of no future, fear of the past and afraid the shrapnel of the present tense was going to be my demise. I was left fragmented, holding on and holding it all in."

~Benjamin Allen

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Let me give you some background first… We have managed over the course of the last several months, to sequester ourselves fairly well from festive activities like holiday events, etc. We made sure we were alone at Christmas, New Years, Tommy's birthday, Easter, Merry Katherine's birthday, and Mother's Day; holidays and grief, for us, just do not mix well. They typically are the worst days of the year for us, and it is all we can do just to muddle our way through them in the sanctuary of our own home. Nathan had come home for his birthday, and we had had a sweet time with him, but there could be no large get together with all of us together because we knew we weren't up for that, so he celebrated in small gatherings instead.

So here it was, the first outing in quite awhile with all our little family gathered around. We were delighted Nathan was coming close by and wanted to introduce us to his new girlfriend he had met while living down in Georgia, but we had fear and trepidation about the family get together without our lively Merry Katherine in the thick of the action… We tried to be sure we were well-rested, well-grieved, and as prepared as we could be for the occasion. But we knew it probably would be difficult and have its painful moments anyway...

This is how I felt, sitting in a family gathering around the table at Cracker Barrel, (As I said, it was a rare event for all of us to get together, because as always, the Absence of her Presence would loom too large, and the shadow would overwhelm the entire event). Here we were, one son celebrating a new love, a beautiful bright moment in his life, and thus in our life, and the other son celebrating and sharing with us for the first time their discovery of new life in his wife's womb, with the hopes of a newborn to come into our presence in about seven months from now, and thus more great elation was there for the celebration in our family's hearts… !

But, where was I? O, I was there to celebrate alright; I wouldn't miss such a special time together, in their lives and mine, and yet somehow I was far far away at the same time… 

I could feel the tension in my insides. Here it was, a truly beautiful culmination of events in our family's lives all at one time, and yet why was my heart sitting in my chest still feeling crushed, pulverized, and dangerous, as if it could splat out on the table and ruin everyone's happiness all at once? 

I felt fear; I felt danger; I felt "un-me," and frightened, even while I too felt sparks of the joy my children were feeling, to some degree. My usual confidence was shaken, and what seemed to replace it was a gross insecurity that clouded my ability to relax and "be" in the moment. I felt on guard against potential disaster, and some of that disaster that might originate from within, from my own darkness that was overwhelming the lightness of the occasion, despite being now engulfed in my children's light-hearted banter. What was wrong with me? I love people; I love my children; I enjoy their quick, spontaneous humor; I love family time, and the sweetness that surrounds it!

Still, it was as if I knew Life and Death were sitting at the same table with me at one time. How can one singly celebrate Life when Death is sitting there tightly coiled, just waiting for its moment to lash out onto the table to totally spew the rest of  its poisons out, and take out all that was left of my family at one time?  Or, at the very least, spew out some of the poisons that seemed to have crept down into my own heart and soul, and thus potentially ruin a perfectly beautiful evening for my family.

How can one truly enjoy a shared meal with loved ones when we know Danger is lurking at our side all the while? Like Benjamin Allen says, "I was left fragmented, holding on and holding it all in." I was using what little energy I had available to try to hide that desperate negativity that was clawing at me, threatening to engulf my soul. In actuality, it was already ripping at my insides even as I knew it was threatening to swamp me, and take me down at any moment…). How do you smile and try to be festive with all that fear and turmoil going on in your heart and soul?

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After the first thirty minutes to an hour of the meal, I was able to feel more and more of the love from my sons' hugs, and the laughter regarding their, and my grand baby girl's, shenanigans. I was beginning to be able to feel the joy in response to their joy as the night progressed. It morphed more and more into a sweet and peaceful time around people who are each full of grace. 

If I was not altogether present, I was mostly present during the remainder of the evening as opposed to the very rough start at first. 

Perhaps this is what it is like to grieve your child now after 7-and- 3/4 years; the grief-and-trauma does not leave (rather, it goes with us everywhere we go!) so we must make room for it, and over time and much grief work, our systems learn to make room for joy at the same time. 

There are times worse than others; I have not quite sorted out what all happened this time ~ I think I have been exhausted from a great deal of grief lately,  which leaves an aggravated adrenal system and its concomitant disrupted sleep, all of which culminates in a steady low-level state of exhaustion, leaving me just enough energy to function, but barely. And thus, I am left more vulnerable for the darkness of my grief to surface at all the wrong times…  

I am very grateful for what was mostly, ultimately, a sweet time with my family. 

I am also aware that we indeed walk in this world now ever accompanied not only by Life… but also Death. Yes, it was a family get-together than included more than just family; it also included my grief and my fear….

Towards the end of the evening, Tommy came up to me, saying, "We need to go now!" Evidently, the evening had been relatively good for him, until towards the end of the evening when the boys were showing off their antics, and the absence of Merry Katherine began to overtake Tommy as she would have been right alongside, in the thick of the playful action with them… He said he had felt tears threatening to come to the surface, so he had left abruptly to go "get gas for the car," and then returned to get me so that we could leave as soon as possible.

Yes, our Traumatic Grief goes along with us wherever we might go, and it often demands to make its presence known.

Those close to me could detect there was something wrong. "He's grieving... he's sad... he can't get over it..."

But they didn't know it was more than that. I was in freefall in every moment. I was in the dark every day.

I was in fear - fear that the unbearable pain could get worse.

~Benjamin Allen

Graphics, thanks to
The Afterloss / Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/TheAfterloss/photos/a.450467991747451.1073741828.447234425404141/506370096157240/?type=1&permPage=1

https://www.facebook.com/TheAfterloss/photos/a.450467991747451.1073741828.447234425404141/506996909427892/?type=1&permPage=1

Saturday's Sayings - Death Changes Us

Saturday's Sayings

Death Changes Us

How Death changed me.

I thought my son was always going to be here. And I rarely face the fact that we are all not given today nor tomorrow no one is; But, when a mother outlives her child, the world, our relationships, our dreams, our feelings, our goals & our life changes forever. I didn't need to do nothing (sic) to change LIFE OR DEATH from happening. It happens all by itself….and changes day after day.

The way I get up every morning…and start a new day….not with the enthusiasm and ambitions for life I once had and the plans that I used to have.

The way I breathe and look at life that once was, is not the same and never will be again. 

The way I see others…for those that do not know how much I hurt every day missing my son and listening to them sharing their stories of their children; their birthday parties, their scribbled drawings on the refrigerator, their first date, their new shoes, their Summer (activities) with their family~ all remind me of what was and will never be again….and it is hard to smile, and they don’t know the pain of why I don’t smile or they will never understand unless they have lost a child.

It changed the way I listen to music and to every song about missing and losing someone. A song I heard him playing in his room, his music he liked and sometimes hearing a song I liked he said he hated but really like that we listen to while driving somewhere, a song I danced to make him laugh and he would say "embarrassing mom"…The music can magically take you back to a special moment in time… that feeling I get so deep in my gut that it was written just for me to remember him and his beautiful smile.

When I look at all the photos of him and our family through the years, the huge events that made up our family life together, that video my (niece) captured at Easter last year 2008 and the split second of filming, that will now be more precious then anything in the world because (it's) our memories of our time with our son and his family (laughing) and having fun.

When I can laugh or enjoy something, I catch (myself) feeling guilty because my son will never smile or laugh again. It is just not fair.

I have (changed) so much every single day that passes without him. Watching the world change from winter, to spring and then summer, just tells me that time stands still for no one, for no reason.

The little things that used to annoy me, no longer make sense… For I will forever be in charge of My choices, my attitude, my memories, even in the face of such devastating loss words could not even describe the feeling each day I think of my memories with my son and now have stopped.

As I watch the seasons change for the rest of my time here; for every leaf that falls, for every snowflake that touches my cheek, for every ray of sun that brings warmth to my soul I know (it brings) me closer to him. And for every new experience his daughter learns as she grows…it will be a moment that I wished so much for him to have shared it as father and daughter and I could have shared it with him.

It has been 7 months and the pain is still not easy just easier to hide is all. (Seasons) are going so fast it seems and as days pass it gets further and further away from the last day he was last here with me.. I miss my son so much...

Even when I may look good or smile there is always that pain of wondering how he would be right now at this very moment. Not a minute goes by I don't think of my son. 

So many people are being called Home and I will wait (until) it is my time to be called and I will be with my son again and my heart will be whole again..it doesn't get easier with time and who ever said it did well they were wrong...

I miss you my son love mom. 

07-24-2009 twila M. fox 

~via Grieving Mothers

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What is normal?

Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile because my son is missing from all the important events in (our) family’s life.

Normal is trying to decide what to take to put on his grave that he would have loved.

Normal is feeling like you can’t sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don’t like to sit through anything anymore.

Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if’s & why didn’t I’s go through your head constantly.

Normal is thinking of the accident continuously through your mind, wondering if my son suffered or was in pain.

Normal is thinking of every happy event in his daughter’s life he will miss and I will see knowing he will not share it with her, breaks my heart. 

Normal is talking of my child’s death and trying to keep from crying each time I say "died" because I still (don't) believe it. And yet realizing it has become a part of (my) “normal.”

Normal is thinking of first year without him coming up with the difficult task of how to honor my son memory and his birthday and how am I going to survive these days. And trying to find a way to get thru these (occasions) without him.

Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special my son loved. Thinking how he would have loved it, but how he is not here to enjoy it.

Normal is having some people afraid to mention my son, “Siaosi”.

Normal is making sure that others remember him.

Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever.

Normal is weeks, and months after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse, not better.

Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. Nothing compares.

NOTHING.

Even if your child is alive and away in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn’t compare.

Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.

Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because you know your mental health depends on it.

Normal is realizing you do cry every day and night just so you won’t cry when (you're) at work or doing every day tasks.

Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken with grief over the loss of their child.

Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how I feel with Friends hoping they will understand how I feel everyday without my son.

Normal is listening to people make excuses why they did not come and see me or how they could not make it at the time of the funeral and me thinking "it doesn't matter anymore". 

I know my son is in “a better place,” but hearing people trying to think up reasons as to why it was my son that was taken from this earth, makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.

Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food.

Normal is wondering this time whether I’m going to say I have four children or three children, because explaining that my son has died to someone is the hardest thing for me to say.

Normal is asking God why he took (my) child’s life instead of (yours) and asking if there even is a God.

Normal is knowing in your heart (I) will never get over this loss of my child, not in a day nor a million years.

Normal is having therapists agree with you that you will never “really” get over the pain and that there is nothing they can do to help you because they know if you say "only bringing back my son from the dead could possibly make me better.” But saying this will make you look insane.

Normal is learning to lie to everyone you run into and telling them you are fine and ok when they ask “How are you” or say “you look good.” You lie because it makes others uncomfortable if you start crying. You’ve learned it’s easier to lie to them then to tell them the truth that you still feel empty and it’s probably never going to get any better — ever.

And last of all…

Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for you to

feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are “normal.”

~via Grieving Mothers 

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If I Could Borrow a Pair of Wings

~by Bonnie Bright

If I could borrow a pair of wings, I'd visit you in Heaven.
Your heart decided not to work when I was just eleven.
They told me that the lights came down like fingers from the sky.
Then lifted you so gently up. Then taught you how to fly.
If I could visit, we would laugh and bounce on clouds all day.
And holding hands, we'd fly right up to ride the Milky Way.
I don't have wings, and so I guess we'll have to be apart.
I'll always know you love me 'cause I feel it in my heart.
~I love you.

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The Bond God Made

I'm sorry that I couldn't stay. I wanted to, you know,
but my time on earth had ended so God said I had to go.
Do you know that I still love you? Do you know that I still care?
Just because you cannot see me, doesn't mean that I'm not there.

I will be there in the darkness. I will be there in the rain.
I will be there when you're happy. I will be there through your pain.

Death can't destroy the bond God made or the love that we still share.
Our hopes, our dreams, our thoughts are one.
Trust your heart, and know I'm there.
So keep the faith. Don't give up hope. One day you'll understand.
God "is" still great and God "is" good. Now live the life he planned.
A Bond Unspoken... Can Never Be Broken...
It's a Mere Token... Of Our Father's Love.

Until we meet again,
I love you.

~~~~~

What moves through us is a silence, a quiet

sadness, a longing for one more day, one

more word, one more touch, we may not

understand why you left this earth so soon,

or why you left before we were ready to say

good-bye, but little by little, we begin to

remember not just that you died, but that you

lived. And that your life gave us memories too

beautiful to forget.

~author unknown

~submitted by Angie Szily

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See, we really need our children, Lord; 

when one has seen in one's life, some morning,

in the midst of cares, hardships, miseries,

and of the shadow our fate casts over us,

how a child appears, a dear sacred head,

a small joyful creature,

so beautiful one thinks a door to heaven has opened

when it arrives;

when for sixteen years one has watched this other self

grow in loveable grace and sweet reason,

when one has realized that this child one loves

makes daylight in our soul and in our home,

that it is the only joy that remains here below

of all that one has dreamed of;

consider that it is a very sad thing

to watch it going away!

--Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

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~Always...