Sang and I went to David's grave this past weekend on our way out to dinner. It was simply awful. awful. awful. I've lost my faith that all this mindless motion that I create can keep me distracted, can keep me busy.
I feel more insane this week than I did the week David died. I never questioned the "process" before. I hated it but I never had the whole "how can I change this?" feelings. Now I hate the process and I don't care to even entertain the idea that it's going to produce any other result than my son being dead. I am here, right here at disbelief and denial- isn't that step 1 in the process?
How I have come here? Where did my progress go? Who can help me?
I stood there, in the rain, and instead of seeing a headstone and thinking about my beautiful greed-eyed boy- I thought about a box holding baby bones. My child is a box of baby bones and I don't want it to be that way. I cried and I didn't care that I was losing control. It was all slipping away from me, my sanity and my composure.
I asked Sang 'how do you know? How do you know that he's there? I don't feel him!" and Sang just listened, I think perhaps unsure of how I landed myself back here at what appears to be 'square one'. But seriously now... How do we know? I used to go there and put flowers and feel him there watching me and now I am scared to think about my son being there in a cemetery in a box, in the earth. The images are unthinkable and I am broken all over again.
There is of course a horrible feeling of grief and guilt that accompany any thought of him, my tiny child. I don't want to be here in this thinking! I want to be on my way back to a shadow of who I used to be. I want to be happy when I think of my son, I want to be whole. My little baby is gone and I am broken... the only difference between now and three years ago is that I don't feel I have the right to just break down and give up- I feel like the show must go on and I will just have to keep praying for some peace.
1 comment:
Hi Janice.
This post of yours comes at a very unique time. It hasn't even been a year for us yet and our son is buired hardly 5 minutes away from our house - I've never been there even once. My husband goes to see Azlan a couple days a week and I was telling him how I didn't have the heart even now, to see that tiny piece of earth where he now lies. And how I prefer on thinking that he really isn't on this earth anymore, that I see him truely as an angel - way high above us.
The breakdowns still come for me, I'm contemplating taking some form of anti-depressent - still need to build up a the nerve to talk to a doctor about this.
But for me, it helps, to let my imagination run a little wild and picture my little cub with wings in heavens far beautiful than this earth could ever be.
Its ok to be broken - but somewhere in all of us, a great deal of strength exists. We just need to find it more frequently than others.
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