Lately, I've been coming to grips with the events of last year. The passing of my grandfather, the loss of Cailey. It's been a rough road. I miss them both so much. I think having two losses so close together just magnified the feelings to the point of shut down.
The only way my mind could function to an extent was by closing off everything and focusing on the most basic of tasks. Wake up. Get dressed. Brush teeth. Ensure family is fed. Work.
The few times I allowed myself to sit and really think about last August, the emotions -- fear, regret, devastating loss -- would rise up and I would have trouble breathing. My heart would shatter and it would be all I could do to continue.
I have written so many messages to Bedstefar and Cailey. My journal is full of them. Notes, stories, telling them both how I'm feeling.
Sept 6:
Is it strange I'm writing you on Facebook even though you're gone? I miss you. I love you. I wish you sweet dreams where they all come true. Goodbye, my dear, dear friend
Oct 31:
It's been two months. Is it supposed to be getting easier yet? You'd love Elodie's Hallowe'en costume. Hermoine Granger. Her tie is too long and brushes her knees. I miss you so very much. I wish you could write me back.
Dec 31:
It's your birthday. Happy 93rd!
Apr 11:
So my therapist (oh, gosh, yes...therapy) told me I should write you a letter when I'm feeling upset. I don't feel okay yet. And I feel like a bad friend because I can't remember your life without despairing over your death. Perhaps your memorial will bring closure. I miss you.
I don't remember past losses being so horrid. Certainly sad. Certainly painful. But my life still seemed to continue with some semblance of normal. Even after being in the room and holding someone's hand and telling them they could go now I was still able to be okay enough to support the one who had lost his mother.
My task at hand right now is opening up small fragments of the smallest emotions and allowing them to work themselves completely out. This might be while I'm in the tub or laying in bed or on a walk. I expose my entire being completely to that one teeny, tiny piece of the larger puzzle and drape myself in it. It becomes me.
And while I sit there in the darkness or anger or wave of despair I just ride it out. It might take five minutes. It might take an hour. It might take four. But by the end of it, I'm emotionally drained and that piece is over.
I don't know how long I'll have to do this. There are weeks when I feel as though I can tackle a piece a day. There are weeks when I don't dare venture into that place. This may be too much metaphor, but you know when you smash a lightbulb? Not just pop it, but really, really crush the thing? And you pick up all the bits you can see. But if you run a damp paper towel over the surface and look at it, you'll still see the sparkling dust? That's me right now.
I'm desperately trying to piece it all back together. And one day I'll get there. One day I'll be okay with it all. But until then, there may be weeks when you notice I have no time for anything but myself and my stuff. And I'm sorry. Wait for me.
