How do we deal with life’s losses and move forward? People far wiser than I am, said that we never do get back to normal. That a time of numbness, confusion and uncertainty eventually merges into a new “normal”.
I am often filled with profound sadness over what will never be. Vic will never see her boys graduate. She will never have that mother and son dance at their weddings. She will never know the joy of being a grandparent.
Jared and I were chatting the other evening and he said “Most of the time I bury my sorrow. I try not to think how much I miss Mummy. But sometimes when I lie in bed the tears just start…”
I told him how guilty I feel because at first, in a perverse way, I enjoyed the freedom of snap decisions to go away for a weekend or dinner without having to make elaborate plans for Vic’s care.
The house is too big … too empty … too quiet. How can one tiny little person leave such a humongous void?
Are we moving forward? Yes, I believe we are. We are healing very slowly. We are functioning well in the “other” world. That world that has no understanding of our world. The boys are both excelling in their studies. They have lovely friends. They have good lives. But, they do not have their Mummy. It breaks my heart thinking how deprived they are of maturing under the loving care of their mother.
I read once that healing is a journey, not a destination or a point in time. I know we are scarred. When we light candles for my beautiful baby girl I know that grief will remain a part of our lives forever. But we will go with the ebb and flow of our grief – it is part of our journeys.
Navigating the Ebb and Flow of Grief Posted on June 28, 2013 by Maria Kubitz
Grief is fickle. Unpredictable. And indifferent to whatever mood I’m in. Most days my grief lies dormant under the activities of everyday life. Little triggers will continually remind me its there. A sad news story on the TV. A girl at the park who reminds me of my daughter. But I can go about my regular routines with no interruptions. Other times, the triggers are bigger, and the grief bubbles up and takes over my mood. Tears well up behind my eyes, ready to release at the first opportunity. My patience seems to evaporate and everyday tasks become cumbersome, meaningless, and even difficult. Usually the bursts of grief from larger triggers only last a few hours or at most a few days.
But sometimes it lingers and grows.
What I didn’t expect is that even coming on four years after her death, I still find myself in situations where grief becomes so overwhelming again that it feels like I’ve gone right back to the debilitating early days of grief. Feelings of sadness, pain, lethargy, dis-interest in things I normally enjoy. Going to work becomes a struggle. Even taking care of my kids feels like a burden. I know these periods require extra attention and care, and I navigate through the best I can, asking for support along the way. I just wonder if these episodes will ease over time, or if I should just expect them to become a permanent fixture of my “new normal” life?
If the death of my daughter has taught me anything — and it has taught me A LOT — it has taught me that we have more inner strength than we can ever imagine, and that with time, attention, and support, we can navigate through just about anything life might throw at us.
9 thoughts on “Ebb and flow of grief…”
All of what is written on this post is wise and I have found it true. But words cannot describe the horrible heartache of grief well enough. I am sorry, Tersia. Vic left a huge void that swallowed up her family – no one can understand it but you.
The void did swallow us up! Thank you for your concern and care my friend.
We can’t possibly ever be finished with this grief. It is a grief that belies the loss of a life that is a part of our very selves. It’s been 15 years since I lost my 12 year old son. At any time I can be so overcome with grief that the light fades from the sky. A part of me is gone. I will spend the rest of my life missing him. But let me leave you with something positive: I know this grief like I know the lines on my palm. It doesn’t frighten me anymore. I can control the depth and the length of its visits. It’s how it is when you lose a child.
I often despair that it will never get better – that I will remain in this pit of heartbreak. Thank you Susan for taking the time to encourage and support me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh Tersia, I understand so well. I read your words … I know, I know. May 29th will make 5 years Tommy has been gone. I thought I was just fine until several days ago, I went through a hard time. My Heart feels for you. I felt your words, and I felt tears in my eyes. I’m sending you love and hugs. <3 Gloria
It never gets better. Just a smell, a sound, a thought… Hugs and much love my friend!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I know so well. Hugs and love back to you, dear Friend.
of course no one can replace their mother but having you and the rest of their family hold them tight and prevent them from falling in to the abyss that can be grief. i am so relieved to know that you have these periods of respite.
i send you love and warm hugs my friend
Thank you my precious friend!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Comments are closed.