Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Grief---Still?, Again?, Always?

Fresh grief has knocked me down, literally, and after a hospital stay with pneumonia and a bacterial infection in the wall of my heart, I am grounded. God is most likely telling me to put on the brakes, park it, and STOP. I am listening, heeding all advice, taking medications, and laying low. I am focusing on myself. I am trying. But these patterns are new to me, and I am not comfortable. I am at ease and at my best when I can do for others, when I can make that meal, work for that cause, help others with their efforts, support the things that mean the most to them, as they do for me/us. I have handled grief in ways that are uniquely my own. I continue to mourn, but I find the fun, laughter, joy. I wake up praying to seize the day, maybe that is why I fill it so much....fill it with what I deem purposeful and productive activity, yet throwing in the occasional indulgence. I do go out, I have lunches periodically, I may see a movie, but mostly, I wrap myself around reasons to bring me closer to my daughters, my family, my husband, and in doing so, I know I am letting myself down a bit. This case of pneumonia has shown me that, I need to take care of me, before, and during, the time I take care of others.

Doing for others has been my therapy. I know so many grieving souls, and each take a different course. One fills her day with so many activities that it makes my head spin just to hear her agenda! I'm not saying that is how she handles grief, but that has become her "way", not only because she can right now, but a loved ones death has shown her to capture it all! Another attends church daily, cries incessantly, has not seen friends in many months, and attempts to understand what has happened in the loss of her child. And yet another, keeps working, doing her best, carrying a broken heart, yet a smile for everyone she meets, finding the joy in the simple pleasures of life. These are not all loved ones who have lost a child, but have faced some sort of loss, and loss is loss, grief is grief, and I ask myself is it STILL with me?, is it here AGAIN, adding a new layer in the loss of Michael, and will it ALWAYS be part of me, my cloak, my armor, to wear for life? I already know the answers, yet, I find myself asking the questions. Asking for what reason, I do not know, just asking, I suppose.

So, here I am, "forced" by this lung condition, brought about by perhaps "catching" a virus, exasperated by a simple procedure, and bringing me to place where I must rest and heal, yet again. As I have found the ability to breathe a little easier in healing, I suppose I am so emotional because of what she went through, the pneumonia that took Allie to the hospital that unseasonably cold autumn day in Chicago. The fact that she walked eight city blocks to get to the hospital in pain, out of breath, and weak has lingered in my mind as I have relived the symptoms I had last week, and the week before. Some would say this has been brought on by my travels, so many in the last months, the lack of rest, the strength needed and desired to weave through Michael's last weeks, and the loss this has been to the family. I suppose they would be right. But I know more, and I know that it was my time to just BE, rest, read, indulge in TV shows, and books of choice, to lay with Rex and heal and cry if necessary, to let others do the shopping or the cooking, to take a breath and figure out where I go from here. I know that the physical met the emotional and blended with the spiritual in a way that God intended, to remind me that I, first and foremost, must take care of ME, then my family, then my friends, then the causes that are near and dear.

Grief has struck, I won't deny I am sad, I am mourning, I am beyond devastated, but I will soar, I will take this as I should, I will heed the call, and listen. I hear you God. I hear you Allison. I hear you Michael.

1 comment:

Karin said...

I read another blog this morning about how grief has no finish line, and the only end to the pain we feel over the death of our children is our own death. It will always be with us and be part of us - but it makes us who we are and what we do, and that I believe is good.