I
called a widow friend to check in the day after Father's Day. Knowing how
difficult the day had been for myself and my children as it was the first
Father's Day since their dad passed. I'm not sure what I expected by asking
this question but the honesty in her response was both shocking and refreshing.
"I cried for four hours."
That's what people who
have experienced catastrophic loss do, they cry, they take long walks and long
baths, they search for that outlet that helps their body and mind work through
the pain. They put together jigsaw puzzles and scrapbook and read old journal
entries while constantly composing new ones in their heads. They cry themselves
to sleep while listening to the same two sad songs over and over again. Well,
maybe that's not what everyone does but that's what I do.
Something I have learned
about our society is that when it comes to tragedy we suck at dealing with it.
The only consistent things we teach are that saying nothing is the only thing
worse than saying/doing nothing and to hand someone a Kleenex when they cry.
I've learned over the
past year that Kleenex have their place but there is that tears have power.
Tears cleanse, tears have consistently been healing for me and they work better
when I allow myself to feel them deeply and allow them to slowly make their way
down my cheeks before dripping onto my body. The weight of my grief releases as
they fall and after I have allowed time for them to flow freely there will be
time to clean myself up, brush myself off and go again.
I often find myself
wishing there was a Band-Aid type solution to my grief and in a society full of
fast food and instant gratification there are things that offer temporary
relief but the reality is we work through the big stuff a little at a time, day
after day, allowing ourselves to feel day after day. We must choose a path of
healing and while that choice may seem difficult, the other option is to bury
it, avoid it and let it slowly take away our ability to feel.
When we choose to feel
we put ourselves on a path to find healing and though it's a slow and painful
process it is possible...at least that's what I have been told. It's been 11
months now and I have progressed from a feeling of drowning to feeling waves
that occasionally knock me over. They are getting farther in-between and less
intense as time goes on.
Lessons In Grief-Part 1
Finding Joy
Doing The Impossible
Lessons In Grief-Part 1
Finding Joy
Doing The Impossible
2 comments:
I love you, Jamie. I thought about you on Father's Day and hoped you and your boys were able to get through it. I cried, and it's been seven Fathers Days for me since Neal went Home.
Let me tell you what I do when I can't cope with missing Neal. I write him letters and keep them. It's not the same as a blog because posting "out there" isn't the same as talking to my husband. So I pour out my heart to him - about missing him, about memories, about frustrations, and on and on. Much of what I write is the same thing I would tell him if he were here. It absolutely helps.
Keeping you in my prayers.
I still talk out loud to Jon, and it's been 12 years since we lost him in an instant. The baby girl I was barely expecting at the time just turned 11,and it's hitting me hard this year for some reason. But please know that it gets less painful and the waves of devastation come further and further apart, but never end completely. But who would want them too?! The sting lessens, and the good memories become sweeter.
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