I once was one of those who would look at a grieving friend and think "It's been 6 months, why aren't they acting normal?". Dear friends of our family lost their grown daughter 4 years ago, and when I saw them last, they had no life to them...they were breathing, walking and talking but not much more. I was amazed...didn't judge them, but wondered what it must be like to hurt so badly that four years hadn't healed them. Then I found out..........
Now as a bereaved mother I see both sides and I have to say, it is the most surreal thing I've ever experienced. My day has many of the characteristics that it did before losing Josh, it has to.
We have needs that must be met and life that must go on, so I get up in the morning and get dressed, I get in the car and drive to work, I put in a full day of work performing at a professional level with high demands, then get back in the car to return home. I greet the kids, start dinner, kiss my hubby, eat dinner together, run kids around and do errands only to collapse in bed at the end of the night.
Here is what has changed...When I get up I am exhausted because I have spent the entire night in and out of fitful sleep still listening to hear Joshua, making sure Brad is breathing, the dog is breathing, and the girls are breathing.
When I get into the shower, I am near tears because I suddenly remember I don't get to wake Joshua up for school or have breakfast with him.
As I pass the busstop where all of Joshua's friends are waiting to grab the bus for school, I fight back tears because I don't get to enjoy those moments in the car taking Joshua to school. This was my favorite time with him...Our time! Then I spend my commute listening to christian music trying regain my composure and keep it together for the day I am sure I will never survive.
I work all day with a smile on my face, accomplish my work, but occasionally slip quietly into one of the storage closets because I have been ambushed by a memory or flashback of Joshua either in life or death.
I drive home, just in time for dinner. As I begin to set the table I pull out 5 plates...sigh, put one back. We sit down to a table set for 4 instead of 5. I see that vacant chair every night. When my daughter asks, "how many potatoes do I need to peel" I say, "I peel 2 for each of us so 10 potatoes", to which she responds "you mean 8?" tearful sigh!
I still meet with friends over drinks regularly and have a pretty active social life. I go to the mall, and the grocery store. Here is what is now different:
I force myself to leave the house, and socialize because casual conversations are difficult for me. When I meet with friends and go to parties, friends always give me those knowing hugs, and when they complain about their child not doing their homework, or not picking up their clothes, I wince....if only that was my problem with Josh. Suddenly, it's hard to be in a happy place.
I am the same body but I am much different. I live the same life in the same town but it is a profoundly different life now that my son is gone. I am surprised that 14 months later it still aches so deeply, controls my thoughts and emotions, and has taken the life out of me.
The rose colored lenses are removed to face the brutal truth, but don't worry too much for me. Through these eyes I see beautiful memories, small moments often overlooked by the casual onlooker, and even the blessings through the hardships for which I am thankful!
Sending You Hugs!
Sherri
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