Friday, June 10, 2011

Sad, sad, sad

I had a big cry at work yesterday, the first big one at work in awhile. Missing him and the hopelessness just became too much and I had to go to my designated crying room to let it out. The morning was just a tough one. Today was better, but I was really busy all morning, so that helped.

We got home tonight and I just had no energy. Ted and I were outside doing some yardwork and I could tell that he was feeling the same way. We went in after awhile and Ted said that he is really sad, just really sad and he didn't know why he felt so bad just then. We talked for awhile and I said that we have just had such a terrible year, I think sometimes we are too hard on ourselves and think that we should be better than we are. I haven't had a good day since he died. Not one. I've had good moments, but over a year without a single happy day seems like such a long time. I know a good day will happen when it happens and I'm not really trying to have one, I just wonder if I ever will again.

Ted's grief has been worse over the past few months than it was in the early months, when he had to be strong for me. I've read over and over again how common that is, and that it can take up to 3 years for a Mom to really come to terms with what has happened.

Another thing I've been struggling with is being grateful and happy for everything I have, but still feeling empty and sad. I have everything that I had before Jacob died and I was happy then.  Now I have those things, and more (some amazing friends, a house), but a huge piece is missing. I was telling Ted this the other day and he said that our lives are like a puzzle. It is a beautiful puzzle and it is almost complete, but a really important piece is missing. I've been thinking of that analogy alot since then. The puzzle was so close to being completed. We had the puzzle piece in our hands, but then we just....lost it. We look at the puzzle and, for the most part, focus on the missing piece. That piece will always be noticeably missing, but one day, more often than not, we will look at the puzzle and be able to focus more on what is there than on what isn't. But we will always be looking for and missing that piece. The puzzle will never be complete. We will never be complete.

My friend Leslie wrote a post today (here) on her blog that describes so well how I feel:

But then I think about my emotions and how the outside world may or may not perceive me. Am I truly happy when I find a reason to smile? Am I feeling any lighter about this entire journey? Do I recognize my own reflection? Am I balancing my emotions between the three living C’s and their youngest brother, whom they never got to meet? Has time helped anything? Am I finding ways to see the beauty in the life that I now lead, and to sense the endless ways that I have been blanketed in love and light?

Am I alright?

Well, most often the answer to it all is ‘No. Yes. Sometimes’. Some days I actually do marvel at the beauty of the rain, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings or the smell of summer at the beach, but there is still a great deal of pain, anger and resentment that can easily wash into almost any picture of serenity.

There is a very blurred grey line that snarls itself between grief and peace.. and it’s a line I walk every day. Some days are easier than others, but in the end everything is different in this world where he is not alive with me. One of my fellow BLM’s (and I have just spent an hour trying to search and remember exactly who said this so please let me know if it is you so that I can link back to your beautifully worded post) ** ETA I now have the link.. please read Emily’s beautiful post here** explained that while individually we may be ok, it is not ok that our babies died.


Becky said...

"That piece will always be noticeably missing, but one day, more often than not, we will look at the puzzle and be able to focus more on what is there than on what isn't."
I hope so! Great analogy, I never thought of it in terms of a puzzle, but its very fitting

Jennifer said...

We are in the same place, Dana. We thought we were almost there, almost complete, but suddenly the life we wanted didn't turn out the way we planned. I like Ted's analogy of the puzzle - we all have a beautiful puzzle, and some people would say we should be thankful for it. But what they don't understand is the part that's missing will always make our lives incomplete somehow. I'm thinking of you and sending you love and strength.

Anonymous said...

I think the analogy of a puzzle is such a perfect explanation of what this feels like. Sometimes I think that the only people in the world who could ever understand this pain are fellow bereaved, but then I watch as one of my best friends comes to me with such grace and compassion, and I realize there actually are a few people out there who get it (as best they can). I hope you know that many of us understand completely how dark these moments can be.. and that we are always thinking of you with so much grace, love, and light.
Thanks so much for your kind words about my emotions these days.. I know that you can relate and I am so grateful to be able to walk beside you.

Lj82 said...

Excellent analogy.

Allison said...

What a perfect way to describe the emptiness of not having your child with you. You and Ted have shown that you are thankful for all that you have, but you need the space and freedom to grieve and mourn that incredibly important piece of your lives that is missing. Try to be gentle on yourself. You are a grieving mother, a mother with tremendous amounts of love as well as pain. My heart is with you guys. I love you!