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.