Wednesday, August 14, 2013

The Uninvited Houseguest



August 12, 2013

That's how Grief Share refers to grief and, like an uninvited guest, it just lingers and lingers.  It's terribly rude, too.  I can be totally minding my own business and what do ya know, grief has interrupted me and stolen the moment, pushing itself into every tiny crevice of my existence.  It is why I spend most nights with my eyes swollen like the picture.  To be honest, it's seriously starting to piss me off, the way it won't leave and the way it demands my attention.  Grief is not quiet, constantly reminding you of what you've lost, in as loud of a voice as possible.  And, it brings friends.  Friends that remind you that some of the nastiest, most horrible people that have ever existed in this world, have not experienced this devastating loss.  What does that say about me?  What does it say about God, that He knew this was going to happen before I ever got pregnant with Brandon, He knew where our lives would already be, He knew the devastation it would leave and yet He allowed it?  I suppose it says more about the grace God gives (part of why I keep rehashing this same question, over and over-because grace allows it), than the punishment and abandonment I feel I've gotten, but most days that's a really hard fought battle, to keep the grief quiet enough to have just a little perspective. 

Grief is stubborn, even as I try to ignore it or sleep it away.  I see something with Brandon's DOB and date of death, almost daily.  It's a cruel reminder that I have a boy who never got to live this life past his teens.  And, grief is a jealous wench, she wants my focus solely on her.  It has made me pull away from so many things.  If I can't do something mindless that takes my mind off the constant pain, then I'd rather be asleep, so I don't return phone calls, I don't reach out to anyone at all.  I am being forced to exist in a place I don't want to exist.  I do not want to be here and no one invited this wretched pain (that makes me want to claw off my face to keep the tears away) into my life.  Just GO.AWAY. 

Grief is threatening to make the barely-beating, half of a heart I have left the only thing I understand, the only thing I recognize. Painfully, I also recognize that I cannot just kick grief out.  It was allowed here, for whatever reason, not by my own choosing, to be sure, and will serve a purpose if I will allow it.  The tears that come every single day are necessary.  Maybe grief does this to ensure that I can still feel, that I do not turn numb and settle into a false existence.  I don't know. 

I wish I had known before that almost nothing is worth crying over.  Who cares about anything, what is there to care about, when you've lost your child?  The deepest, most sacred part of you has been ripped out...literally, torn from your screaming hands.  What is worse....what was so bad, what hurt so much before that?  It seems like an insult to have cried over something else.  An insult to my son, to God, to somebody.  And, now, all I do is exist.  Day by day another number is added to the days I've been without Brandon, the number of days I feel like I'm being punished, the number of days that the clock keeps ticking for everyone else, but has stopped for me. 

Grief sits patiently while I scream out questions that have no answers.  She is there when I shake my head in disbelief that our little dog won't ever see Brandon.  He knew where Brandon's room was and, anytime I called him, Samuel ran right over to Brandon's stairs and looked up at his room, waiting for Brandon to come out.  Some days, it takes all I have to not call out Brandon's name, so I can watch Samuel look towards his room, thinking that just maybe, Brandon will come down.  Grief is there with me.  Not wanting to become my identity, but wanting me to come to understand my true identity, the permanent one, not the one on paper that says, Hello, my name is Lisamyteenagesonjustpassedaway....all together like that.  Oh, how I pray that grief will move out, someday, and give the room to redemption.  Today, I can't see it, but it just has to happen.

2 comments:

  1. Shannon Gurule'August 14, 2013 at 6:59 PM

    Love to you my friend! Breathe, focus on the moment you are in.

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  2. Lisa, Please email me if you need to. Even though we haven't talked in sometime I still feel connected to you in a very deep way. I am praying for some peace...the pain will always be there and life will always be different, as I now realize with the loss of my mother, (and I can't imagine losing my child)~ but I am hoping your soul can have longer and longer moments of happiness and that the intense grief and sadness becomes less and less and choses to surface only once in a while.

    Steves only brother was killed in a tragic fire on his wedding day over 20 years ago. Not only did he lose his brother, but his brothers wife and almost her entire family. Steves mom still mourns intensely for this loss but over the years the happy times do take of most of her days... I admire her...it was and continues to be a hole in her heart but she said she kept going day by day engaging in her life on earth. She has an intense faith in god, which helps her and she knows she will see him again as I know I will see my mother, but I'm not sure we really like to hear that or hear "they are in a better place" I mean...we know this, but it doesn't stop the missing and if we could pick we would pick for our loved ones to be here.

    Steve and I talk of his loss at times and even now 20 years latter he doesn't open up about it. There is such a miss for the what if...

    I am not sure I would have ever done this before, but I am going to a psychic/medium this month...We'll see.
    Much love to you my friend.
    Lorrie

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