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Wednesday's Woe
I'm in a Fight against Grief, and I'm Wearing Glass Armor:
A Brother's Grief
~by Nathan Prince
I asked my son tonight what he meant a few nights ago when he said he was so wounded, and that he was afraid he might shatter. I wasn't sure if he was alluding to grief over his sister, or problems he ran into in graduate school, or attempts at getting a job in a strained economy.
Here is his answer:
I have found that the 3 1/2-year mark has been the hardest for me in my grief --
The pain is not as fresh as at first, but the Void is greater.
Death is no longer something shocking or hard to grasp. It's a full reality, and (I'm) not having to cry over it, but
Feeling the Voided Emptiness I have found makes grief harder than ever.
And yet the pain is so perpetual --there is always a sadness there that has not gone away-- I know it will never truly end.
And because the pain is not as fresh, there's "nothing" to cry over.
And with no tears, there's no healing.
And with no tears, I forget how much I'm hurting.
From the unawareness of the pain, I no longer manage the pain ~ the pain manages me.
I walk around mad and upset, and I don't know why. I find myself crying over anything or any one who is precious to me like she was. I forget that it is Grief that I am reacting to. It always lurks beneath the surface.
I have always said if you don't cry, Grief is going to control you. It eats away at you on the inside.
As a result, I feel like the slightest prick of pain could shatter this very fragile heart. I isolate myself from the world because I know I'm made of glass now and the world has handfuls of rocks it's just dying to throw. And now I'm walking around with a target on my chest. I feel like if someone were to throw a rock, I would just shatter.
Picture: http://www.thedailygreen.com/weird-weather/winter-photo-flipbook-50120808
