Today marks 14 years since your death, James. It seems like a lifetime ago and yesterday all at once. The difficult-to-adequately-describe feelings of love, loss, and unanswered questions about life itself.
This year I didn’t have the awful week leading up to the death-date where I think about all that could have been and punish myself over the what-ifs. This year the death of my dad took over my emotions and I guess there is only so much we can process at a time. That’s probably a good thing in many ways, but also complicated and littered with guilt.
My husband got up early with the kids today; we take turns since we both work from home. I had my alarm set for 8:30. When it first went off, I turned it off and just laid there thinking about what today is and what today will always be for me as a mother of child no longer here. I thought about how I have let this day consume me in the past and here I am today just feeling numb. Not crying not overwhelmed with the reminder that I have lost a son, just numb. It feels a bit like someone pushed the pause button and I have to decide when to resume the show.
I guess if I had to pick from the choices I would pick numb over hysterical snotty crying any day of the week, but I almost felt guilty that I wasn’t crying. You know? If you haven’t lost a child this is harder to directly relate to as the pain of losing James is layered with the guilt I believe every mother has when they feel they failed at protecting their child. Even if there was nothing we could have done, we are supposed to be their protectors –and whether it’s reasonable or not, we feel we have failed them without the ability to ever make it up to them.
I decided to roll back over and get some more sleep. I likely didn’t need the sleep as much as sleep is a way to temporarily escape what hurts. And guess what?—the fact is, that is okay. We don’t have to explain or justify needing just a little more stillness; life is passing us by as it is.
14 years later, sure, it’s gotten a smidge easier to hold it together and carry-on. Except now, it’s mixed with the very raw loss of my dad. I have little moments where I think about the idea of the two of them being together in Heaven, but I also wonder if that is a concept created by God to help us cope until we get there (and find it’s not exacyly what we have been told.) It is surely wonderful and we will no longer have any desires as all our needs will be met….etc, etc. However, I don’t think it makes us bad people to have moments where we just question all of it. Faith can be tricky like that. (I, for one, believe that He is fully aware of these moments as we are, in fact, only human…just the way He made us.)
I think it’s important for all of us to remember that despite there being steps to grief, no one said that once you went through one it never comes back. There are no rules with grief. The steps are often out of order, repeat themselves, go in reverse and…unfortunately, never actually end for good. That concept doesn’t mean you are forever consumed in sadness, guilt, bitterness…but rather that the love we had, and miss so terribly, lives on forever. It’s only natural that grief comes along for the remainder of the ride.
I don’t have any particular plans today or ideas on what to do with my feelings (shy of putting them down on paper and boldly sharing them with the world, haha) so I find myself staring off just thinking about where I am in the present. How I could have never guessed how things would play out. How life is truly a big mystery that we have only so much control over despite how hard we might try.
How letting go and holding on work hand-in-hand.
Letting go of anger and guilt, but holding on to the love and memories.
Letting go of the what-ifs, and holding on to the lessons learned.
Letting go of what other people think about how we grieve, and holding on to those who give us space to go through all the emotions.
Letting go of what we think is supposed to happen and holding on to the present joys in our life.
I will forever miss my son and my dad—I will never let go of that, but I will hold on tight to the memories of their love that forever provide light within the cracks of my life.
Beautifully and truthfully said. I, too , have gone through a 14 yr loss and you are so right. The coulda, woulda, shouldas will never really be gone . I can’t imagine a double loss, although I soon may, but I appreciate your comment about what it all does to your faith and what you believe. I pray Gods grace for us both. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were related. Really enjoy your insight. You say it so much “nicer “ than I could. Hang in there for your family. They are not immune to your pain. It seems they are attuned to it and give you the space you need. What a blessing!
Thank you so much for your feedback! It means a lot to me when people tell me what they think or how they relate. Thank you for reading. 🙂