(19 Weeks) Photo: Day 8, March 5th , 22:37
It’s been said, and I’ve been told by a very dear friend (bless you Katz, it helped me and alot of people) that grief and loss comes in waves.
If we roll with the wave analogy, when it comes, it’s like I’m reeling at the shock of the icy cold water hitting me and the unexpected, force of the wave that knocks me back. It’s a physical thing. It takes my breath away. I literally struggle to breath.
And then there’s the aftermath, the split second moment after the wave has hit me. I’m in this time-lapsed bubble of that moment, when everything and everyone around me blurs and fades. And it’s then that it’s at its worst.
It’s at its worst because I’m starring at the void of the future. First, the very immediate future (the next hour, the rest of the day, the week ahead). And they’re not here. Then the long term future, the weeks and months ahead, rolling endlessly forward.
And they’re not here.
It’s a void and a hole, a gaping hole, that I can sometimes ‘see’ or imagine, but something I always ‘feel’, smack right in the middle of my chest. Like there’s something pushing against my lungs that restricts my breathing.
They’re not here.
It’s the permanent, ongoing lack of them. Where once there was energy and passion and stupidity and silliness and tears and hopes and arguments and rants and catchphrases and endlessly repeated jokes.
But, as luck would have it, this doesn’t last long. More to the point, I decide I’ve had enough, that, nope, can’t do this. I can’t stare at this void any more. Change the subject. Let’s not go there.
Glass of wine anyone?
Before and After 
I can’t really say what I want to say. The death of my lovely, clever , poverty stricken brother, who took the only way out he could think of. It’s been years. About 20 years now. But still I see him. Funny and beautiful and graceful and the poverty he ended up living in. My beautiful brother. Michael.
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Be kind to yourselves.Eat good foods. Take baths. Sleep long . Keep talking to us . We are listening .
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Hey Squiz
‘Not being able to find the words’ is a cliche for a gobshite like me who’s full of words but tentative about choosing the right ones, as if I have to say something really profound that perfectly captured something. So instead I’m going to admit my verbal limitations and just roll with your blog for a minute..
Last night I dreamed I was a gorilla with a baby on my back; I was climbing an oak tree and feeling a little acrophobic (unusual for a gorilla I know). Once at the top I climbed around for a bit then had to make my descent by grabbing a rope and somersaulting into space, trusting the rope would deliver me safely to the ground, which it did, but without the baby gorilla on my back.
I should have felt sad, but the relief of having survived the perilous descent was paramount (and these are my waking thoughts) because above me I knew the infant was safe (although out of reach) and that were I to have been grievously harmed, this would have caused the infant unassuageable distress.
What a messed up start to my day: a monkey dream with a cheesy interpretation tagged on 🙂
X
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You describe grief so perfectly. I cannot imagine your pain. I work in the field of child loss and am daily amazed by human resilience, how impossibly relentless pain can be but somehow resilience walks with you through it. Warmest thoughts, J
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