After 2 weeks of company…… I was amazed to realize that I hadn’t “lost it” while family was visiting; I was too distracted. Of course we spoke of my son and his accident, but with few tears.
After a sharp pang of guilt, I was almost relieved to feel my constant companion again. That is when I understood that the grief was always there. It is a part of who I am.
This imagery keeps running through my mind…
In the beginning, you run outside because your grief is too large to contain. You thrash about and scream in pain from grief – as if you are under siege from the elements that are beating at you. Finally spent, you retreat to inside the house where it feels safe.
Once inside, you tuck your grief away, wrap yourself in a blanket and rest. As long as you are inside and safe, you can keep the memories at bay and hold back the tears. But, each time you go to the door and try to open it, the grief storm is there waiting. So, you slam the door shut and stay put.
You are on guard, because the memories and reminders push at that door. A song, a book, a harsh comment (even a kind remark on a bad day) will try to drive the door open.
As time goes by – you are able to walk a few feet from the door without worrying that it will be breached. Those are the days that don’t start and end with anguished thoughts. In other words, you feel almost normal.
But, eventually, you have to leave the house. And when you do, when the door is finally open, it is there waiting for you.
As my father says, “It doesn’t matter what you do, it never goes away.” Kinda reminds me of that old (kitschy) song:
“Wherever we go, whatever we do, we’re gonna go through it together “