[Queen] of Pain (with apologies to The Police)

In an attempt to clear my head, as well as my heart:

I did start this grief journey on Facebook but, after two or three posts, I just felt it wasn't the right place so, knowing my tendency (and in this case, *need*) to spew-and-send, I rolled everything over to my blog, where I've continued and have no plan to stop anytime soon.  This medium has always been my journal, not caring whether I had readers or not.  My Monkey Mind just had to release steam.  Facebook started to feel too in-your-face for such a tragic litany.

It's been wrenching for me to go into such detail about Eric's death and how it was affecting me and our family, but I couldn't *not*, if that makes sense.  I was processing it.  I had never done this before.  I was attempting to navigate through uncharted waters.  Writing is not only what I do; it's who I am.

What I was sharing with friends and family these last three weeks was the tip of the iceberg.  I'd been keeping everyone at arm's length, actually much more than that.  I wasn't answering phone calls, texts, door knocks.  I wasn't ready to "people".  I said in one blog post that we all grieve differently, and my reflex was Snappishness.  It was also Solitude.  And amidst both of those, I was crying uncontrollably, big heaving snotty sobs (which I've cycled back to). 

It is real.  It's real.  It's f*cking real.

And I know everyone has been trying to stay in touch, and to console me... and I have learned through this process there are different ways to do that too (you can bet there will be a blog post about that).  Unless you've lost a child, (generic)you have absolutely no idea what I was going through, when I was basically skinning myself and nailing it to the wall for all to see, trying to understand it all for *me*.

And life just kept going on, and I get that (obla-di, obla-da) but, in the grand scheme of things, I couldn't be sidetracked by other people's problems because, in a battle of whose life is harder, it's always the person with the dead child, you know?  I will "win" every time.  Full stop.  Period.  Mic drop.  And I would have given anything *not* to win.  

There were condolences, of course... but there was also much "there but for the grace of god", like we were contagious or something.  "Better you than me".  And we never thought it would happen to us.  We're not those people.  We've always been so lucky, so charmed, so blessed.  And all that came to a screeching halt.  I will now forever be the woman who lost a child.  My youngest is dead.  I don't know how to come back from that.  Even worse, now I have to figure out the day-to-dayness of it all.  

Some people's Love Language is Food/Cooking (Nancy)... and some is Gardening (Linda)... and some is Touch (Robert's)... and mine is Words... and I'm just going to keep cranking them out, because every day is an AFGO (Another F*cking Growth Opportunity) and, although I don't want to do this, I have no choice but to keep doing this... in between weeping, checking out, throwing up, zoning out, building walls, allowing fragility, bursts of anger, etc. (so much anger now!).  

I love my friends and family so much.  I need you all right now.  I will take off my blinders at some point and resume caring about what's going on around me but, for now, I am a sorrowful, selfish woman who just wants her son back, and that's never going to happen.  I remain bereft.

More later.  I have run out of steam.  Whew, right?

P.S.  I tried to go to Mindful Meditation today (a free class offered by Hollybrook every Thursday afternoon from 2-3), but there was no one in the room... so I came home and breathed (although it's only been shallow, not deep, breaths for the last 3+ weeks).  I couldn't make myself go out walking, so I stretched instead.  Lots crossed off the To Do List though.  I had a Zoom meeting with my True North Project peeps (hard).  And I rescheduled my ophthalmologist appointment (from tomorrow to early-November) because I've been crying so much I didn't feel they could get an accurate reading of my eyes. 

Earlier today, Chico said to me:  "I am resigned to his death.  I'm just having a hard time facing his absence."  Whew.  Gut Punch.

SONG:  [Queen] of Pain (with apologies to The Police)

BOOK:  Reflecting on Grief and Moving Beyond Pain: Living with Loss and Discovering New Meaning by Sara Thurman

POEM(S):  What Can We Give? by Beth Weaver-Kreider

What can we give besides our prayers and rage?

And what will that avail?

Send out the story on October winds.

Fling it high, where crows are flying.

Send the message echoing into earth

with every pounding step you take.

Listen.

Let the shells of your ears gather the story.

Reel in the gossamer strands of the tale

and weave them into the veil you wear.

Listen for the stories of those who weep,

those who rage, those who only speak

with the shrug of a shoulder,

with a sigh, with a shudder.

Listen, too, to those who walk right in,

who step into your circle without invitation.

Listen to the voices that are hard to hear.

Offer only the bread that is yours to give.

Be like the old gods, with the raven Wisdom

on one shoulder and Memory on the other,

and Reason perched upon your hat.

Offer what is yours:

your rage,

your prayer,

your watchful quiet heart. 

Pity me not because the light of day by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Pity me not because the light of day

At close of day no longer walks the sky;

Pity me not for beauties passed away

From field and thicket as the year goes by;

Pity me not the waning of the moon,

Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,

Nor that a man’s desire is hushed so soon,

And you no longer look with love on me.

This have I known always: Love is no more

Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,

Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,

Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:

Pity me that the heart is slow to learn

What the swift mind beholds at every turn.

QUOTE:  "My mom taught us to never look away from people’s pain. The lesson was simple: Don’t look away. Don’t pretend not to see hurt. Look people in the eye. Even when their pain is overwhelming. And when you’re in pain, find the people who can look you in the eye. We need to know we’re not alone – especially when we’re hurting. This lesson is one of the greatest gifts of my life." ~ Brene Brown

"True healing is an unglamorous process of living into the long lengths of pain.  Forging forward in the darkness.  Holding the tension between hoping to get well and the acceptance of what is happening.  Tendering a devotion to the impossible task of recovery, while being willing to live with the permanence of a wound; befriending it with an earnest tenacity to meet it where it lives without pushing our agenda upon it.  But here's the paradox: you must accept what is happening while also keeping the heart pulsing towards your becoming, however slow and whispering it may be." ~ Toko-pa Turner