For the record, I didn't quit. I thought I did, but in reality... I just paused... for a lonnnnng time, but I'm back so that's proof that I didn't quit. (That''s my story and I'm sticking to it.)
It got to be too painful. I don't know what I expected, but this has not been "it". I knew it would hurt. I knew it would change me. BUT... I'm an overcomer... a fighter. I thought every month it would get just a little easier - that time would help. It doesn't work like that. I thought I could "handle" the pain. I was wrong.
A week and a half ago, I was as close to suicide as I could be without actually committing suicide. What stopped me? A sudden vision of my oldest son - the pain he is feeling now - and the knowledge of what it would do him for the rest of his life if I took mine. Divine intervention?
That day I wrote:
If I had a way to do it
I would have done it today.
Too late now.
No more pain for them -
no matter the cost to me.
Going through the motions -
screaming inside.
Smile.
Yesterday I had a hopeful day - posted happy words on Facebook - and got lots of support from people who actually think those words mean something more than having "a good day". They think it means I'm a trooper - that I've got this grief thing under control. They don't understand that it's fleeting - it's a feeling - it's not a definition of who I am.
I saw 3 of my grandchildren on Wednesday night - just for five or ten minutes when I dropped something off at their house, but it was enough. Life makes more sense when you're hugging a 6-year-old - or an 8 year old - or an 11-year-old... who, by the way, gave her 8-year-old sister a nasty elbow shot to push by her - to get to me. It was just what I needed and it made my day. I'm in charge of love - not discipline. :-) Wednesday night - got me through Thursday. That's how I roll.
This morning, I put my head down in the shower and let the water run over my head and face - and cried for about 10 minutes. I miss him all day - every day. There is no relief from grief (a term that is too liquid to hold in your mind). There are days that have real joy in them - days that I'm incredibly grateful - but the loss is always there. Always. Under the joy - under the gratitude - under the smile - it's still there.
When I finally stopped crying in the shower, I got out - got dressed - and went to Philadelphia for a PET scan. I was diagnosed about 4 months ago (I think - I lose track of time) with stage 4, lymphoma. I'm trying to find space in my life to have a feeling about this, but I can't afford it right now. I'm just moving forward - some days I'm sure I'll be fine - some days I just don't care. Unfortunately, I'm sure you'll hear more about this, but I assure you, this is insignificant compared to the loss of Greg.
Tomorrow? I don't dare anticipate.
It got to be too painful. I don't know what I expected, but this has not been "it". I knew it would hurt. I knew it would change me. BUT... I'm an overcomer... a fighter. I thought every month it would get just a little easier - that time would help. It doesn't work like that. I thought I could "handle" the pain. I was wrong.
A week and a half ago, I was as close to suicide as I could be without actually committing suicide. What stopped me? A sudden vision of my oldest son - the pain he is feeling now - and the knowledge of what it would do him for the rest of his life if I took mine. Divine intervention?
That day I wrote:
If I had a way to do it
I would have done it today.
Too late now.
No more pain for them -
no matter the cost to me.
Going through the motions -
screaming inside.
Smile.
Yesterday I had a hopeful day - posted happy words on Facebook - and got lots of support from people who actually think those words mean something more than having "a good day". They think it means I'm a trooper - that I've got this grief thing under control. They don't understand that it's fleeting - it's a feeling - it's not a definition of who I am.
I saw 3 of my grandchildren on Wednesday night - just for five or ten minutes when I dropped something off at their house, but it was enough. Life makes more sense when you're hugging a 6-year-old - or an 8 year old - or an 11-year-old... who, by the way, gave her 8-year-old sister a nasty elbow shot to push by her - to get to me. It was just what I needed and it made my day. I'm in charge of love - not discipline. :-) Wednesday night - got me through Thursday. That's how I roll.
This morning, I put my head down in the shower and let the water run over my head and face - and cried for about 10 minutes. I miss him all day - every day. There is no relief from grief (a term that is too liquid to hold in your mind). There are days that have real joy in them - days that I'm incredibly grateful - but the loss is always there. Always. Under the joy - under the gratitude - under the smile - it's still there.
When I finally stopped crying in the shower, I got out - got dressed - and went to Philadelphia for a PET scan. I was diagnosed about 4 months ago (I think - I lose track of time) with stage 4, lymphoma. I'm trying to find space in my life to have a feeling about this, but I can't afford it right now. I'm just moving forward - some days I'm sure I'll be fine - some days I just don't care. Unfortunately, I'm sure you'll hear more about this, but I assure you, this is insignificant compared to the loss of Greg.
Tomorrow? I don't dare anticipate.
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