Three years ago tonight I sat in a strange room, in an unfamiliar town, in an overwhelming hospital holding my son while he took his last breath. This kind of experience changes you, forever. There is no going back from that.
In the months that followed I was empty and no idea who I was. I wrote a journal describing the ups and downs of my grief. I remember thinking specifically, what would I be like in three years. I don't know why I thought three years but it seemed like a long time and enough time to figure it out. I wondered if I would still carry all the pain with me that I felt in that moment. It scared me to think I could actually live three years without my Declan and I certainly couldn't wrap my mind around how I would get up each day and live in this grief.
I actually like to look back and think about this time in my life because it is the single most important season in my life that set in motion how I would live the rest of my life. I like to remember the journey because when you have hit your lowest point there really is a lot of room to grow. Here is an entry from my journal. I wrote this 2 1/2 months after Declan passed away.
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Monday, August 4, 2008 11:39 PM, CDT
I have struggled with whether I should post this or not. These feelings are easy to write but difficult to confess aloud. I pray that this suffering does not fall upon any of you but in case it does or to someone you know in the future I offer my raw feelings as a way for you to observe the reality of this season where finding hope feels impossible when the fog is thick.
I am having a rough night, more difficult than most. I spend my days holding it together so when evening comes I can be numb eagerly waiting for the kids bedtime so that I can be complete with my numbness. Then as the lights go out darkness comes and I am left alone with my thoughts pleading with myself, hoping that it won’t take long for me to give way to sleep. One minute past the moment my eyes close is one minute too long.
How long will this go on? I need to know.
I want to slice open my mid section and pull out all the pain as if I had a splinter left embedded in so deep it waits for the tissue to push it out. I long for someone to make it go away. Someone who would understand the loneliness this pain brings. Someone to wrap their arms around me and squeeze it out of me. I despise this loneliness. It is ugly. Why can I not explain it so those closest to me don’t see me as someone outside the realm of normal? I don’t need to be analyzed or gossiped about. If I weren’t feeling these feelings then I would be sending some distress signals out. This isn’t something anyone can get over in two months. A part of me is dead. My child died and took a piece of me with him.
I miss him.
My arms ache with the need to hold him.
I will myself to not be jealous when I hear someone’s good news. I swallow the anger when I hear someone’s superficial problem. I say my reasons for gratitude out loud so that my soul hears it clearly.
I am weak.
I don’t feel worthy of God’s peace.
What do I pray for? Do I pray that when tomorrow comes I can face the world without apprehension? Walking into the salon today with such anxiety I didn’t know if I could sit without passing out let alone looking my stylist in the eyes, unable to speak of Declan. For the first time I couldn’t bring myself to engage in a conversation about him. I prefer a world where no one knows my pain. I can sit and look at a stranger in the eye and pretend it never happened, that I am just a regular person with inconsequential problems at that moment.
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I'm glad I have moved past the worst part of my grieving. If I went back in time I don't really know what I would tell myself about what the three year mark means or how I feel. I've learned to live with my grief. I have a harder time talking about Declan than I thought I would three years later. I am still very aware that it might make others uncomfortable so I tend to avoid the topic but I am making an effort to stop doing that. I get emotional more than I think I should each time I do talk about him but I also want to be able to talk about him. Yes as I suspected, my life is divided into two parts; before and after Declan.
I would tell myself, it does get easier even though it seems like it never will.
May 23, 2011
I cannot even comprehend that kind of grief. Still praying for you. DF