after a night of being so overwhelmed by the grief and pain of losing my son that it felt like dying, today i’m ok.
perhaps i’m getting used to these recurrent slamming into a glass wall/getting power-punched in the gut moments of despair, as well as the triggers that bring them on.
i know what was said is true. i know that intent and perception can sometimes be dichotomous. and i’m trying to believe those words were chosen without ill-intent (i could be trying harder, but that’s all i’m willing to give of myself right now). i know this person loves me, louie, and calvin. that’s probably why i went spiraling down so quicky and so hard – i felt like I was being patronized, which made me feel attacked and betrayed. but i’m not surprised at how badly someone’s choice of words or tone of voice can knock me down.
it’s because i’m protective of my grief.
yes, i spent last night reliving the loss (that continues to tear at my insides anyway) like it was happening all over again. yes, i am most definitely back to feeling like no one understands how badly my heart has been wounded. but this does not feel out of the ordinary.
yes, it took exhaustion from crying to finally bring rest (if you could call it that). and i woke up with tears still wet on my face, as though i cried through my sleeping – which i do not find impossible. but this does not feel abnormal.
it could be that this feeling of normalcy and of being ok with getting hurt by people i thought could understand me is merely a protective numbing. maybe i think things are fine because i’ve cut off my capacity to feel for the moment. but i prefer to believe that i’m starting to recognize it’s not their fault their lives are moving on while my world needs to stand still for bit a longer. hopefully i’m starting to understand that the pace of my grieving will always only continue at a fraction of the pace at which others heal from the hurt of my son’s death. it’s a better way to live, i think, than to shut myself off from them.