Deep, Oh, So Deep

Yes, I am changing. I am never to be the same. I don't know if people notice. I don't know if they care. And it doesn't matter, really. This is all about me, my journey, my grief, my loss, my life. Never would I have imagined myself saying this or owning up to it in my own mind. I lived a life before when it mattered what others thought, when I thought I knew who my friends were, when I led a life filled with so many people in it. I loved people, and I still do. But I am protective, protective of my self, my emotions, my ideas, my thoughts, and that deep, oh so deep part of me that is slowly evolving.

I still socialize, I participate, I show up. I stay productive, I engage, I care. I respond, I do, I move, I provide, I volunteer, I love. But everything I do has new, intense meaning, and I am becoming somewhat "selective". And I am learning that is "okay" and necessary to my existence.

The new found complexities of grief are deep. They have touched a part of me that I never knew existed. I don't want to even know this, let alone, own it. But I have to, and I must learn what the deepness means, signifies, and teaches. I cannot explain it, and in most cases I don't have to. But I cannot deny there are times when I wish I could, just now and then, make those understand that stand in my life and make unusual comparisons, trying to empathize but not knowing how, those who let me know Allison would "want" me to be a certain place by now, without knowing what it is like to lose a child, offering advice on how to "move on". They cannot possibly know the depths to which this whole journey penetrates, they just cannot know. So I find myself just nodding my head, maybe looking a little perplexed, staying silent because I don't have the energy to explain. It is what it is, and in the next breath they are often complaining or sharing something that is significant to them, and I GET how important it is to them at the time. I just don't always know how to respond.

Some people have made note, and way more than one, that I have changed. They don't understand, it's spring, it's wedding time, it's a joyous time to be alive. And I understand that, I embrace it, I live, I breathe, I show up. I get up. But I am me no more!

There is a quote I read recently, "But I am no more I, Nor is my house now my house." That says it all, and says so much. My whole foundation has been shifted. Everything that was once familiar is foreign. It all feels strange. And why now? Why three years into this deep, consuming loss? My theory is that it takes time to settle. I recall when we built our home the builder letting us know that for the first three years we would sense a shifting, cracks would occur, nails would pop, it would feel odd and strange. No, I cannot begin to compare losing a child to building a house, but what I can compare, is the amount of time it takes to "adjust" to anything, a new neighborhood, a new language if we were to move to a foreign country, a new marriage, a new job. Why would this be any different? Why do people ask me what they do and why do they "expect" me to be the same? It's deep, oh so deep.

This deep place, chamber of my soul, tells me much. It tells me that I am going to be okay, that I live the day, that I savor the blessings, that I spend my hour of healing or devotion each day, I mend, I move, I live. I want to. I don't want to dwell, so I have my moments, I write fast and furiously to get the emotions OUT, I step away from myself and I ask God for guidance. I cannot suppress this. It has to be managed and dealt with. And in the process I am finding out more about life, about myself, and about my God than I ever imagined. I am blessed to take this day and live it proudly, all the while searching for the answers that will be revealed, in time.