The Pit

I have tried to not only understand, but describe, the pit that has been in my being, my soul, my inner self, my womb since Allison died. Yes, I am saying the word. Died. It still doesn't roll off my tongue easily. It's like a stutter. It's even like I try to think of words to say INSTEAD...because, as I have written about and live through every day, she didn't DIE, but, yet, in terms that people understand, she did. So I sometimes say IT. But I don't like IT. Still.

The "pit" is something that I am learning to live with, through, and to cope with. I heed its messages, warnings, sadness, as I know it is the place I hold my grief. Is this the way with all mothers who have carried a child under their heart, I often wonder. I just don't know how to understand it. It gnaws and makes me feel hungry, I try to satisfy it by eating healthy, or not so healthy, satisfy the pain with what appeals to me at the time, but very seldom does anything soothe or take it away, that ache, that is sometimes dull and often relentless. It creates nausea, it stimulates hunger and it is my constant reminder that the effect of grief on my body and spirit never leaves, no one will ever see it, yet, it is always there.

Imagine my surprise when I turned to a Facebook Page I look at from time to time, Grief and Loss, and a mother's blog was featured. I like how the group showcases different blogs with one time articles, and then if the blog appeals to you, you can certainly follow. Sometimes I do, often I do not. Lately, I have found them to be of some comfort and support and they touch me in ways I didn't even know I needed. My own blog has been my main source, as my fingers virtually fly to release the feelings within, so that I may move through, and around this cloud that follows my every move. So, there I was, led to a posting of "The Pit", so I am not taking credit for her words on www.thegriefspot.blogspot.com, I am simply sharing so as not to plagiarize (the English teacher I was has made me paranoid:). The mother remains nameless to me thus far, but I did post on her blog so she knows how much she helped me as she shared, and put into words what I could not, her feelings of "the pit". What struck me most was her words that were so literal and descriptive, especially when she spoke of how the feeling was like one of "scar tissue stretched and spread" and how "the pit" is her "touchstone in reality". I, myself, being so unaware of this type of grief, have often believed something HAS to be physically wrong with me, have sought out doctors, have in my heart wondered if I had cancer, or if something had gone horribly awry with surgeries that took place long before grief! When I read that this grief has been with her for eight yers and that "the pit" was her personal "reminder to look after me", I struck an instant, identical understanding! I have so often used "the pit" as my personal barometer, especially since losing my child, and try to heed the signs to rest and care and find my own self-awareness!

No one sees this pit, no one knows it exists, no one knows how deep it goes, the numbness, the emptiness, even while being filled with all the other joys of life, learning to live with this pit, a hole that will never be fulfilled again, is my constant challenge. Sometimes I welcome it because it makes me FEEL again, sometimes I despise it, because I do not understand it, sometimes I embrace it because it is my signal to hold on and know myself, to fill myself up with God's embrace and love, to cling to love, to count the blessings of my life. And sometimes, I just want it to all go away, to turn back and not know of it, and others, I want it to stay, because it makes me know I am alive and it helps me find my purpose, if only for a short time. This "pit" may be here to stay, it may fade in time, it may surge without mercy, all I know is, it is real, no, you cannot see it, but it is mine.