The Ugly Monster

Uglier than my wildest imagination, and now the realization that the ugliness is but a monster, and the monster is in me.
Grief is difficult, painful, and I think in my case, debilitating work. It is taking all of me. If I'm not the me I used to be, I'm sorry, but I'm trying to survive. Its ironic how each time in ones life you think that you have fallen on hard times, only to discover that it was small potatoes in comparison to what’s going on now. Is this blog a part of my grief work? I think that my writing is accepting what life and death looks like. Good, bad, struggle, denial, you name it, I go through it, and often times I take you all with me. It is making room for all the pain, so that it doesn't crowd out the other things in my life. My living children’s lives, my loved ones, all.
My journal quilt scares the hell out of me! Maybe….. as I have stated many times before, it is simply trying to purge what’s inside so that it will no longer cause unimaginable if not unmanageable pain.
A friend, and local quilt shop owner emailed a profound sentiment to me, and I wondered if I was in line with what she recommended, or she was “out of line”. The end of her note read :

“Keep your chin up G Woman, everyday you have is a day to celebrate the days you had
with your son and the remaining members of your family. Try to remember
that they lost him too, but if you fail to thrive, they also lose YOU. His
path was short, yours is long and affects all around you.”

I am not going to candy coat what I am going through to make other people more comfortable. I tire of being strong, but I do wish and WILL thrive again one day. I get ill when I see my pretending face in the mirror. I get angry that I’m so darned angry, and yet so weak sometimes. This is what losing a child feels like. This is what it does to a life. This is how agonizing it is. The feelings are real, no matter what anyone says. Healthy behavior ( I think) is to acknowledge them, experience them for what they are, and maybe, all will be okay one day. I fear that I will explode unexpectedly if not relieved from time to time. (spontaneously combust?)In ANY manner of expression. So I must not pretend to” not know” the monster inside of me, I must rid myself of it. I’m just very afraid of the cost. What, who, how much will this cost me? I find myself whispering under my breath to a few people, “please don’t go”. And a nasty flash crosses my minds eye of the whisper to my son as I said goodbye knowing he was in a black box. Not any of them could hear me, as I feel no one can hear me now, nor would I want them to.
Again I say that I am not alone in the grieving parent club. Altho it feels this way quite often. This is the new me. I will not ever “get over it, & get on with it”. Anyone familiar with the line in the movie Shawshank Redemption “ Get busy living, or get busy dieing? I used to think that way, now I know that there’s a whole spectrum of gray scale in between. I will never stop grieving for my son. A limb has indeed been severed, but I can and will thrive without it, for the sake of those left behind whom I love. For the sake of honoring a love, that’s now gone.
Most people avoid death. That is part of being human. A deep respect for life naturally leads to an avoidance of death. Sometimes it’s a fine line between when to keep fighting and when to let go. I pray that I will always have the will to live. Of course death is a part of life, I wish people would stop saying this to me…. but no parent accepts the death of their child. It is much easier to accept for a person who has lived a long life, than for a child just starting theirs.
I will no longer pretend I’m fine when I’m not. When I have issues, I will say so, so that the next time you run into someone going through this, or it happens to your friend, or maybe you lose your own child, you will know that this is normal. This is what grief looks like, and its ugly. The ugly monster. I cannot get around it. I can only go through it, step by aching step. It’s not my choice, its just the way that it is. Maybe it will help someone, just one someone, someday. We, I believe, as one little person, with 2 hands and one heart can make a difference. Be it in voting, teaching, counseling, Mothering, loving, even making a quilt block. Even blogging! I CAN make a difference.
Thanks once again dear blog readers, for listening to my ramblings, for praying for my family, for your encouragement, and yes, for every heartfelt stitch or word on the quilt I wrap myself in on a nightly basis. The heart of life is very good. Despite the Ugly Monster.