confessions of grief

Today is the anniversary of the day baby Hart died. As a way to honor his memory, I'm going to roll around and wallow in my grief. I'm going to face it honestly and head on, without regard for social mores or self consciousness.
When your son dies it sucks-no it SUCKS. It doesn't "stink" it isn't "unpleasant" it doesn't leave a person "distressed" or "distraught". It SUCKS and there aren't enough faces in the world to punch, garbage cans to kick, or sand castles to stomp on.

People judge you by how you handle your grief. It upsets others to see a person mourning, and brings them comfort when "you're holding up well".

Euphemisms abound-and not that I don't appreciate the old "he's in a better place" as much as the next guy, but guess what? WHO CARES???? My son may be better off in heaven, but I'M NOT! I MISS HIM EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY! So you can take your euphemisms and spread them where the unicorns roam amongst the rainbows-because today, I don't want to hear it. I want to wallow in my grief. I want to miss my son and THAT'S OKAY! I understand that it is a burden to have to deal with someone who is acting and feeling completely unreasonable-I have teenagers. It's exhausting-I get it. And the natural inclination is to comfort with words that will make the person snap back to a state of reason (and it would be nice if they could at least be grateful for the service!)

But words of comfort aren't what I need right now. Honestly, I can't even hear your words right now. Grief comes in many forms-from all consuming (which is why I can't hear your pearls of wisdom right now) to subtle-my grief is always with me, as my breath-I am not always aware of it, but it's always with me. And if you can't relate or understand-that's okay, but please extend to me grace or wide berth.

I sometimes think about the person I was before I loved Hart. The person I see in my rear view mirror was carefree, quick to laugh, blissfully ignorant. I will never be that person again. It's not conscious, and I don't believe people look at me and think "gosh, I bet she used to be footloose and fancy free," but I recognize the person I once was and as hard as I try to return to that person, the further she slips from my grasp. It feels like some ancient tragedy come to life-as though my fatal flaw- having experienced unfathomable loss-will now hang over me like a mantle-the inevitable devise that guides the course of my journey.

I cannot talk about Hart's life without talking about his death and that makes people uncomfortable, I get it and I'm so sorry for your discomfort, but guess what? My empathy for your discomfort is outweighed by my desire to share my son-so there!

I feel very fortunate to have a reservoir of empathy
I feel very impatient when I hear what other people call "tragedy"
I feel grateful that most people can call a hangnail tragic and not know better (or is it worse?)
I feel incredibly wise
I feel remarkably ignorant
I feel blessed by perspective
I feel cursed with perspective
I feel like a member of an exclusive club- a private knowing that defies explanation
I feel lucky-I feel like my children are some of the most empathetic, kind hearted creatures in the world. And I feel like when they are disappointed or hurt and someone says "well, that's part of life, people need to experience disappointment-it defines character" that I want to punch them in the face and say "are you freakin' kidding me? WE KNOW ABOUT DISAPPOINTMENT"

I feel like people are stupid
I feel like people are amazing
I feel like there are enough days in the year to hold it together that I can totally fall apart one day each year.
I feel like I can be totally happy for you and sad for me at the same time.
I feel frustrated that there are social guidelines for measuring how one is dealing with loss. It is so unique for each of us, that there is not one path.
I feel grateful for society's expectations of how people behave as they grieve. Sometimes, when you have no idea what to do or how to do it, it's nice to be told.
I get very defensive when people use depression and sadness as synonyms.
I feel like I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but that if I could trade places with my worst enemy I would feel like they don't deserve to be in my shoes.
I feel selfish and selfless
I feel like every one's life deserves to be honored and cherished and that it is a tribute to them to be missed. And that if I weren't so sad and missing Hart today-what would that say about him? and me?

And finally and most importantly, I feel like it's okay to be sad. It's okay to live the entire day with tears in my eyes and snot dripping out of my nose. It's not pretty, but it is beautiful!



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