October 1, 2014 To my dearest friends, loving family, concerned acquaintances and thoughtful strangers, How are you? Can I get you anything? Do you want company? What happened? We dont know, I found him in his bed. When we know, youll know. There werent any clues. He was watching tv and streaming netflix, ready for bed, smelled like a fresh shower. I have asked God to give me the strength and words to respond to some of your questions, concerns, thoughtful gifts, prepared meals, heartfelt gestures, beautiful cards, phone calls and endless text messages. How am I? The only way I can answer that without lying is to tell you about the darkness. I have never experienced such anguish and emptiness. I have tried to force myself through the grieving process in a desperate attempt to escape the pain that tortures me day and night. It is different where I am, the world. It smells different, it feels different, and it has changed. I am a stranger in a world of my own. If there is any feeling that exists outside my agony- it is exhaustion. I am encased in a relentless fatigue that makes the simplest tasks so overwhelming so please understand I am writing this to you, for you. When I am in public I can barely stand the disconnect that seems so obvious to me and so invisible to the life going on around me. I don’t want to get caught in the store and be confronted with a “how are you?” or someone who doesn’t know and asked me how my children are. I cannot always control the tears or expressions of my suffering as they assault me at the most inconvenient and unexpected times. There is no way out, except to go through the chasm of horror. I read of someone chasing the sunset to capture the light of day. The writer said, “The quickest way to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing the sun, but to head east plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise.” It would help me a great deal if you didn’t ask me how I am. I appreciate the “just checking in”, “xoxo “, I’m here”, Im thinking of you, On my way to store text what you need ll leave it at the door. The simple messages that hold an optional response. Sometimes I can respond, sometimes I can’t. Yet for some irrational reason, the “How are you?” or a series of any questions causes my brain to spiral into a panic of emotion and confusion, as I am desperately trying to figure out how I am, who I am, what I need and who will I be. How am I going to get through this? My older sister sent me a text that simply read, “Morning”. She left off the word “good”. Mornings are not good, truth be told they are tied with night as the worst time of my day. I thought yes, it is morning; it’s NOT a good morning, but I was reminded another day of my hell has passed and I was one step closer to a day that is not filled with unyielding heartache. Do you want company? Can I get you anything? This is a hard one. The company I long for you cannot provide. I want my son. I want him to walk in the door and pick up his guitar and show off his beautiful talent. I want him to walk up from over the small hill I stare at by his grave where I beg God to allow him to come, just for a minute. I plead. I wait. I stare. I cry. I know it’s possible, as well as I know he’s not coming. I spend most of my days in the park sitting on the ground next to the body that once held the soul and spirit of my child. It makes me feel connected to him. I replace the rose that the deer feasted on the night before and fix the leaves they scattered while dining. I don’t mind that they eat them and I know Casey wouldn’t mind either. I just want it to be neat, just as he would do for me. He had the same sense of style and pride in his environment. His apartment looked like a replica of mine. It deeply touched my heart. I have my youngest son Brayden coming home from school and by the grace of God I can care for him. He is back in routine, supported at school, talking about his loss and has been an extreme comfort to me. He is tender, sweet and affectionate. Sometimes we cry alone, sometimes together, sometimes we even laugh. Neither of us is afraid to talk about Casey to one another, but we don’t linger because it’s so raw. Sometimes, I need to go in my room, the shower or in the basement and weep so Brayden can continue his show, homework or whatever else he might be enjoying when the assault of agony chews at my soul. My daughter Zoe is a woman to admire, emulate and envy. She has endless talents, the strength of a warrior, the heart of an angel and the ambition of champion. She was instrumental in helping Casey set goals and start the victory journey of achieving them. Brayden has been fortunate to see her way of mourning and it has strengthened him and given him permission to mourn as he needs to. The visible intensity of my suffering made him question his process until my daughter and my mother displayed their strength in all its fullness to him. Zoe shares her beautiful son with us and gives us all another reason to hang on. So, I am not alone, even when I want to be. I am not pushing you away or refusing your company because I don’t appreciate you, love you or value your friendships. The best, yet still grossly lacking, analogy is to compare it to being naked. My sadness is so deep and I cannot describe the catastrophic feelings of loss to you. I have an endless barrage of thoughts and scenes playing over and over in my mind. I recall every premonition, every soul gripping emotion as I approached his room. I hear the song I sang to him when I held him as a baby and when I held him when he died. You cannot understand this world, it exists only for those who lost a child and you do not want to understand this world. Only those unfortunate enough to have walked through this valley of death can identify, and to even those amongst me, our pain is our own and though we long for relief no one can provide it. I am downloading and reading the stories of other woman who have lost their children and they describe my emotions, my darkness and it is only then I get a sense of connection and a ray of hope that I will survive. I cling to my God and all His promises as I hear the whispers of his loving voice that He has a plan. I feel His love and thank Him for my son’s freedom. I will get my legs back and we will have time together, when? Who? These are all questions I do not have answers to. I am naked. I am stripped down to nothing but my humanness. I love you, but I cannot be naked before you. Please know your prayers, your energy and your love so richly and generously poured out on me has filled my heart with a reservoir I use to care for my children who need me. You are with me, I am taking from you. I am receiving the love you are giving and it is sustaining my life until I can live without life support and breathe on my own. When you laugh, you are laughing for me, when you tell your child you love them, when you stop a fight before it starts, when you appreciate the life you have, when you fight that battle against cancer, when you send me a love note, when you bow your knee on my behalf- you are my company, you are giving me what I need. One day, you will invite me and I will come, you will call and I will answer. I will never be the same. One day it won’t be what happened to me but more what happened in me. I will emerge...forever changed, mission in hand. Today, however long that is? -----I grieve Please read and share Kay Warrens article. I didnt even know they lost their child. I was searching the web for there latest book in hopes for spiritual inspiration and I discovered they too are sharing in my grief. If you want to help anyone who has lost a child her article is insightful to the world of darkness we must drudge through. christianpost/news/kay-warren-says-dont-tell-grievers-to-move-on-as-1-year-anniversary-of-sons-suicide-approaches-116210/
Posted on: Wed, 01 Oct 2014 23:09:41 +0000
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