"Grief is like having a sharp edged stone rubbing inside of you. Gradually its pointed edges will become smoother, but the actual stone itself will always be there, inside of you. It is part of you."
They key word I suppose is "always." It will always be there. Which is something I have to work on getting used to, because really I don't like always having IT there, at least in some ways. Obviously I don't like the death that caused this grief. I don't like the feeling that I am now part of this big white elephant in the room that people don't want to acknowledge. I don't like ping-ponging back and forth between people thinking they can't ask me how I'm doing and people assuming that I should be over it by now and "back to normal." You can ask me how I am. You can ask me lots of things. But if you ask a question, even a seemingly "safe" question, understand that the answer might not be comfortable for you. Please don't ignore it or change the subject. At the same time, please don't expect me to have lengthy conversations with you. I often can't keep my mind from wandering off for that long. I don't enjoy long conversations anyway...right now they're a reminder that I have spare time on my hands, and why. Yes, still.
Right now that stone still feels pretty sharp. It still feels raw. I still feel raw. It often makes me want to pull away, to pull in. I easily and often feel overwhelmed and suffocated by pressure and expectations--mine and others--and sometimes by people themselves. Yeah, still.
I realize that with time, gradually this will feel less sharp, more blunt. That's a double edged sword. Pain that's less sharp sounds good. But there is the fear that with the gradual smoothing will come forgetfulness. It's not an entirely rational fear, but like the stone it's there. There is the fear of the future. As those edges become smoother, we grow (which is good) and change (which is scary). I'm not going to be the same person I was before Braeden got sick, before he died. Part of me died with him. I can't ever be who I was, and I'm not sure yet who I'm becoming. Am I that different now? Will I be that different someday? All of our roles and reasons have changed. It has left us confused and unsure a lot of the time. Yup, still.
One thing I don't know is how long a time period "gradually" encompasses. It's only been ten months, and yet it's been ten months. I still cry--often. That stone still hurts deeply. It's a reminder--of how much I've lost, of how much I love, of how much I am blessed. It feels like yesterday, it feels like forever. It feels like a whirlpool of tears and emotions. And it feels a long, long way from "shore."
Uh huh. Still.
(Grief analogy from Skylight.org)
I know this may not be the best analogy and I cannot imagine what you are going through but think about this: How do you think God felt when He had to watch His only Son go through what He went through? Because we have a God that loves us so much we know that death is only a brief time....then eternity is forever!!
ReplyDeletePraying for you and your family. Thank you so much for all you do.
Guess I don't know how to login. It's mom. LOL. Anyway Pete and I were just talking today about grief and how it is different for everyone, takes different times for everyone and feels different for everyone. Maybe the person who seems to "get over it" quickly isn't doing that at all but just placing a scab over the wound and it never heals or heals well. Maybe the person who seems to be taking a long time to "get over it" is letting this horrid wound heal in the best way for that person. We all tend to compare ourselves to the other person and want to hold ourselves up as examples. Well, that just can't be good as I am totally different from you. Now if we could just remember that. I loved the phrase you wrote the other day---something like, "Of course you don't understand. I hope you never have to understand."
ReplyDeleteI am Dawn's husband and Braeden's father, so I admit that I'm less than impartial when it comes to comments that (to me) kind of suggest a "what are you crying for, God understands" tone. Maybe I'm misinterpreting the nature of the first anonymous comment, but comments like that reinforce the feeling of isolation that we feel. This isn't the first time we've felt this; I'm not just directing this at the anonymous comment. The thing about comments like this is that, we have never heard it come from someone who has been through what we have. When we hear comments like this, it feels a bit like the person simply wants us to stop reminding them of what we have endured, because it's hard to think about. Yup, it sure is. Try living it.
ReplyDeleteYes, God's son did die, bearing the sin of the world. We can't even begin to relate to what that was like, any more than the average person can understand what we're living with. That's OK, we don't expect them to. Gratefully, because of that sacrifice, we will see Braeden again. Thank you Jesus! That's our eternal perspective talking. Is that to say that because God understands, we should be at peace with this? I don't think so. That's not scriptural. Even Jesus grieved deeply at the loss of his friend Lazarus. God is relational, just like we are, so why should we not grieve over the loss of our son, when Jesus grieved over Lazarus? Having a relationship with Jesus doesn't change our grieving. Knowing God understands doesn't change our grieving. It still hurts just as much, even knowing that we will be with Braeden some day. It's not a hopeless grief though. That's the difference. We do have an eternal joy, knowing that we will be together again. This is a comma, not a period. To God though, a thousand years is as a day. To us, some days are as a thousand years. God understands our grief and grieves with us. We were never meant to die, and that grieves God. In that, we have freedom to grieve, so yes, we STILL grieve.
Dawn & Kevin ~
ReplyDelete"Still". Rough word. Can I change it to "Always"? You will ALWAYS feel Braeden's death.
The platitudes and knee jerk reactions are constant, aren't they. I'm tempted to attach an exclaimer to all of my communications (verbal & otherwise). "If you are going to respond to me, please PAUSE. Respond from your heart. Both of us deserve the respect."
Unthinking responses trigger a distasteful sense of disrespect. Disrespect for myself, my family, Gregory's experience and the person responding.
Kevin, your response is beautiful. Thank you for taking the time and for speaking from love, instead of anger.
Dawn...... Thank you for sharing your heart. I'm here. Listening, loving.
You both offer so much perspective that most people will never quite fully get or understand because the experience is yours alone. I don't know what to say or I know I say the wrong thing when I open my mouth or even when I don't say anthing at all...it's hard to get it right all the time. Honestly, too, it probably depends on the day, the moment, how tired one is, how many stressors one has dealt with that in turn permits a different reacion. The triggers must change constantly in how the question, the silence, the changed topic is taken. Maybe through the process, both sides (all people) learn to love each other in spite of correct or incorrect responses, our misunderstandings or unrealistic expectations of each other, our constant scrutiny and judgements of ourselves and others. Perhaps we keep trying to love each other as Christ loves us. Imperfect, grief stricken, messed up, unworthy and all the baggage that makes us human. Maybe we finally just seek to understand and love unconditionally.
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