I wrote & shared the below post, I am afraid., on my Facebook page a little less than four months after losing my son. At that time, sharing it came from a place of desperation. Desperately wanting to put words to some of what was happening inside of me. Desperately wanting a place to put it so that maybe it would alleviate a small piece of the torture I felt inside, even just a little. Desperately wanting what felt like the weight of 16 heards of elephants compressing down on my entire being to lighten even just slightly. Desperately seeking just a moment of breath. And, desperately wanting to give a peak into what I was feeling to any of my friends & family that read it, in hopes they would understand some of what was causing me to be so quiet & unable to join in gatherings & activities. Today I am sharing it here because a few days ago I was reminded of this post by a new friend. A friend who is heartbreakingly also a member of the club that no one wants to be a part of. The grieving parent club. I read her comment & then once again, read back though all of the comments left before her. One of the things I have been so grateful for throughout my adult life is the generous and vulnerable sharing from others of their life experiences, feelings & insights. That sharing has helped me through so many different challenges in life, as well as in personal growth. Especially after I lost Jentery. The grieving community, specifically grieving mother's, who share their very personal & heart-wrenching journeys have helped me tremendously through this journey I am now on. Their public writing has provided a community for me that has validated feelings I have had, guided me in directions that allow me to continue forward motion, helped me sort through the complete & utter confusion & disarray that often takes up all of the space in my head, heart & being, & gave me belonging. I am grateful beyond words for these humans. The only thing I feel I can do to show my gratitude is to in turn, share.
I am afraid.
I am afraid of letting go of that day. As dreadful & shocking, & agonizing as it was, as it is, it was the last time I saw him. It was the last time I was in his home with him. It was. the last time.
I am afraid that other people will forget him. That in the normal & expected & healthy continuing on of life, everyone will forget him. I am afraid that in my carrying on each day as “normal” as I can in my life that people will think I have forgotten him. I am afraid that my daughters are not getting what they need from me. I am afraid of the pain and loss they feel everyday. I am afraid of the reality that I do not know how to help them through this, because I don’t even know for sure how to help myself. I am afraid of moments in the future. I am afraid of everything outside of work & my home. I am afraid of people saying something that will make me feel or think something I haven’t already thought. I am afraid of not being the person I was pre-April 24th. I am afraid he doesn’t know how proud of him I was every single day of his life here & every single day since he left this earth. I am afraid of the confusion that changes daily. I am afraid of the gaping loss that lives inside of me. I am afraid of waking up tomorrow & finding another one of my children gone. I am afraid of feeling happiness. I am afraid of being sad. I am afraid of feeling excitement. I am afraid of being afraid. I am afraid of the grocery store. I am afraid of the toilet paper isle. I am afraid of talking to a therapist. I am afraid of not talking to a therapist. I am afraid of church. I am afraid of not going to church. I am afraid of family gatherings. I am afraid of not being at family gatherings. I am afraid to talk to my mom & dad. I am afraid of not talking to my mom & dad. I am afraid of failing. I am afraid of succeeding. I am afraid of disappointing all of the people I care about. At home. At work. My friends. & I am afraid of not disappointing. Afraid of what that means. I am afraid. Of all the emotions I have experienced so far along this journey, fear is the most crippling. Confusion. Every morning as I start my day. Confusion. Every night as I go to bed. Confusion.
I’ve only known the me that had the fortunate path of having a life that followed right in line with the natural & trained progression of life. For that I know I am one of the lucky ones. And I am grateful beyond words. As I find my way though this time that is not natural. That is not what we as humans were prepared for. That is not “normal”. I am afraid. I am a lot of things. I find myself experiencing more feelings in each day than I could ever articulate. But today I am acknowledging the biggest of them all for me. Fear. I opened my mail from the last week this morning (yes, I am also afraid of the mail). In it was the second of a short series of books our pastor has sent me. It was a thirty or so minute read & something stopped me in my tracks & made me pause in my “training” of starting each new day & read it before getting ready for the day. In the book, the author shared many stories & experiences those working through grief felt. He didn’t use fancy words or write about things using psychology, or science words. He just wrote about his experience & the experiences of others as they worked their way through grief. He was real, to the point, & honest. I relate to almost everything he put in writing. Almost is the key word. And in everything he wrote, the “almost” was clear. Grief is different for everyone. As I have learned from my friends who I am so sad have had to experience the loss that I have, the loss of a child; the loss that other loves of my life have to experience…their son, their brother, their grandson, their nephew, their cousin, their friend, their coworker, their leader, their mentor, their comrade in bigger causes, their person; I am learning the magnitude of loss. Of what it does, what it means. The permanence.
I will never be the me that I was. That doesn’t make me any less, or more. Just different than before. My daughters will never be the humans they were before. My parents, in-laws, my aunts & uncles, my cousins…never the same. And there is beauty in that. Heartbreak, pain & sadness, yes. And beauty. Some days I (we) will see that beauty, feel that beauty. Other days we will not. Both are OK. Both are normal.
For me, today, this is my way of living what I wish for every human being I encounter. Honesty. Sharing. Truth. And recognition that I am afraid, I am hurting, & that I know I need to keep on training every single day. For my son. For my daughters. For my parents. For my family. For my friends. For my leaders. For my coworkers. And most importantly for God.