donnaj
My Journey Through Grief
turning point
journey The fact that I'm here . . . writing . . . is a huge step . . .
I've been sensing that I'm coming to a crossroads in my journey through grief . . . that if I don't stop at this junction and make a conscious choice, the path I'm on will not only be self-destructive, but destructive to the people who love me.
Why today? It's been over a year since Zac's accident . . . why so long? I'm sure many wonder why I haven't gotten over it yet. Right now time is relative. I blink my eyes and the passage of a year is just a second ago. I still can't fathom that he won't at any minute walk through the door with his "hey mom" and touch my shoulder or give me one of his giant bear hugs.
I've kept a grief journal . . . so why write in a public place? Good question. Will having someone else grasp one iota of the pain of losing my son somehow soothe me?
I've done some processing up to now. Here are some things I know:
You can never let your guard down, because one night you will pick up the phone and your life will never be the same.
I knew that. Shouldn't I have know that after having 4 previous calls to learn of the sudden deaths of my dad in 1976, my mom in 1989, my brother Frank in 1993, and my brother John a year or two after that.
Your child should never go before you do.
I know that there are conversations that we should have had but didn't.
I know that you need the love and support of your loved ones even though there is nothing nothing nothing they can say or do to make it all better. And it's worse if they try. Just to have your friend sit with you, or take care of something that you need to do -- like, say, make you eat something . . .
Here is the biggest thing I've learned. And this was less than a month ago. I will never be the same. I kept expecting to "get better" or "get over it" or not feel so much pain still. And then it hit me. I Will Never Be The Same. I remember reading in C.S.Lewis' A Grief Observed how he compares the aftermath of losing a loved one to being like someone who loses a leg. You will go through recovery and learn to walk again, but it will never be the same.
The thing is, today I felt some hope about that.
Today I found this, written by Danielle Steel, who lost her son: "Losing a child is nine parts unthinkably horrible and one part gift. The secret to surviving it is finding the gift. One is never the same, but one has the choice of becoming bigger, deeper, more . . ."
And it was today that I had read earlier in my latest book on grief, A Grief Unveiled by Gregory Floyd, ". . . No, we are never going to be the same. There is no turning back, no becoming again what we were before Johnny died. The school of suffering has taught us lessons that can be learned only in its hallways. We are different. Love anything and your heart will break, as C.S. Lewis has said. We gave our hearts away to this boy as completely as we could and he took off with it. I realize that sometimes the reason I feel so strange is that part of my heart is not here any more . . ."
Can you wake up one day and feel hope again?
Just for this day I can believe that.
I've been sensing that I'm coming to a crossroads in my journey through grief . . . that if I don't stop at this junction and make a conscious choice, the path I'm on will not only be self-destructive, but destructive to the people who love me.
Why today? It's been over a year since Zac's accident . . . why so long? I'm sure many wonder why I haven't gotten over it yet. Right now time is relative. I blink my eyes and the passage of a year is just a second ago. I still can't fathom that he won't at any minute walk through the door with his "hey mom" and touch my shoulder or give me one of his giant bear hugs.
I've kept a grief journal . . . so why write in a public place? Good question. Will having someone else grasp one iota of the pain of losing my son somehow soothe me?
I've done some processing up to now. Here are some things I know:
You can never let your guard down, because one night you will pick up the phone and your life will never be the same.
I knew that. Shouldn't I have know that after having 4 previous calls to learn of the sudden deaths of my dad in 1976, my mom in 1989, my brother Frank in 1993, and my brother John a year or two after that.
Your child should never go before you do.
I know that there are conversations that we should have had but didn't.
I know that you need the love and support of your loved ones even though there is nothing nothing nothing they can say or do to make it all better. And it's worse if they try. Just to have your friend sit with you, or take care of something that you need to do -- like, say, make you eat something . . .
Here is the biggest thing I've learned. And this was less than a month ago. I will never be the same. I kept expecting to "get better" or "get over it" or not feel so much pain still. And then it hit me. I Will Never Be The Same. I remember reading in C.S.Lewis' A Grief Observed how he compares the aftermath of losing a loved one to being like someone who loses a leg. You will go through recovery and learn to walk again, but it will never be the same.
The thing is, today I felt some hope about that.
Today I found this, written by Danielle Steel, who lost her son: "Losing a child is nine parts unthinkably horrible and one part gift. The secret to surviving it is finding the gift. One is never the same, but one has the choice of becoming bigger, deeper, more . . ."
And it was today that I had read earlier in my latest book on grief, A Grief Unveiled by Gregory Floyd, ". . . No, we are never going to be the same. There is no turning back, no becoming again what we were before Johnny died. The school of suffering has taught us lessons that can be learned only in its hallways. We are different. Love anything and your heart will break, as C.S. Lewis has said. We gave our hearts away to this boy as completely as we could and he took off with it. I realize that sometimes the reason I feel so strange is that part of my heart is not here any more . . ."
Can you wake up one day and feel hope again?
Just for this day I can believe that.
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