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| January 2010 |
Again with the spinning.
It's akin to being dizzy. Remember that game where you spin around with your head on a baseball bat (the other end resting on the ground) then try to run to a specified destination? That's fairly close to how I feel today. Just when I think, ok, this is good, it dawns on me that it totally sucks and that this is some crazy charade.
I had felt it today but wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because my phone didn't ring all day or I really didn't get any texts. Maybe I was feeling lonely and disconnected. Or maybe I was just feeling 'it'. I spend most days reminding myself that though I have loads of people buoying us up, that it isn't their responsibility to call me between the gym and the grocery store or to even read my blog. I try to imagine what it's like on the other side of this situation, as the friend or family member but really I don't have a clue.
After naps, I was singing "Three Little Birds" with Owen in the kitchen while fixing dinner and Maya told me that Chris would always touch her nose three times when he sang the line "This is my message to you ou ou" on the you part. I didn't know that. I don't remember ever actually watching him sing to her; I could hear him from the living room though. It was a momentary reassurance that she has some concrete memories and that they are not just things I am remembering for her. I feel this enormous responsibility in becoming the memory keeper.
Then I read Chris' Facebook page. The funny thing is that I had just been on Facebook reading an email from an amazing friend from college who told me to call if I needed to do the 'ugly cry.' At that moment I was thinking, nah, I'm good tonight. I looked at my email then looked back at Facebook for a minute to see Chris' page and there it was, several posts asking him what he is doing, what the other side is like, what is happening. All questions I have asked repeatedly. The funny things is that I had given up a few weeks ago asking these questions or requesting he reassure me he's OK and that we will be OK. Nothing was coming and it felt fruitless so .... I let it go. And I really did, let it go. Then I forgot to keep asking. And now...the ugly cry commences. Maybe my friend knew...
The good thing about the ugly cry? It's short lived. I don't cry for extended periods though I feel like I 'should'. Like it's my widow duty to cry the correct amount of time in the correct way. I even found myself feeling guilty this week that I was feeling good...better than I had been in the past 10 weeks. This widow thing is hard...what an understatement.
Sabrina,
ReplyDeleteMy heart truly goes out to you. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be in your situation. Everyone handles emotions differently and I think that you have a beautiful way of expressing yours through this blog. I am certain that this candid expression of your feelings will help someone else who may be experiencing a similar situation. I know that we are not super close, but please know that I care and my heart is with you and your family. It isn't easy to grieve a loved one, especially when you are grieving for yourself and your children. You are a strong woman. Peace will eventually come. xoxoxoxox
I can tell you what its like for me: If I wrote you every time I thought of you and your sweet kids, you'd add me to your list of stalkers. (okay, I'm probably already on the list!) I feel gratitude for your willingness to share Chris and your love and memories of him with us. I'm encourage by the love you between you two. I'm amazed at your openness and poignancy in your expression of your tender feelings. I want the very best for you, but I can't bring him back. I feel like I'm trying to stitch up your broken heart with a railroad tie.... stabbing a blunt object around in hopes that I'll be helpful. I want to be 'there' for you whether near or far without being 'told' so that we can laugh together and lighten those heart-wrenching, elephant-crushing moments. But since my efforts feel utterly hopeless, I'll just keep praying that the ugly cry will do you good... that it will burn away the sorrow and grief and leave you with beauty--the good memories of Chris. And that that beauty will sustain you in every frustration and trial you must face.
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