See, ever since being faced with the loss of my loved ones, I've been desperate to move on. Instead of letting myself go through the stages of grief naturally, I tried to push myself through. I spent hours and hours pouring over articles on how to cope, how to grieve, how to process, how to heal. I performed the recommended exercises like writing letters and making lists, but somehow it all ended up making me feel more empty than when I began.
Foolishly, I started to measure myself against my friends and family. While it was apparent that they were still impacted, I saw that they were able to carry on with their day-to-day lives. Their grief didn't seem to prevent them from doing dishes or cleaning the carpets or, you know, getting more than a couple hours of sleep at a time.
I started to question myself. Was something wrong with me? Was I grieving wrong? Was I thinking about it too much, or perhaps not enough? Why did I feel so sad about everything?
Finally, I approached my father for advice. Aside from being the wisest person I've ever met, he also has a background in counseling and a knack for giving people a dose of perspective. He listened patiently while I cried about how I couldn't seem to kick the depression, how I was having trouble sleeping at night, and while I prattled on and on....he smiled. It wasn't smug or snarky, it was patient. When I was done crying and vomiting insecurity all over him, he told me to go easy on myself. "You and your husband both went through something traumatic. You're a young woman, and you've been fortunate enough not to lose many people up to this point. Unfortunately, not only were you forced to deal with mortality and loss, those experiences were multiplied before you were able to examine the individual experience." I hadn't thought about it like that. Instead of giving myself time to morn each loss, I lumped them all together as if they all had the same effect on me.
The real truth of the matter was that each situation was unique--each loss was devastating in its own way.
"Also," my father said, "you're hiding behind the loss instead of facing up to the real trauma. You found your grandmother. You were there for your mother-in-law's passing and you saw what it looked like up close. You watched the struggle.... Instead of focusing on writing letters to the people you've lost, you need to come to terms with what happened before you even began to feel the loss."
There it was--the answer staring me in the face. All of my desperate attempts to cope with the loss and feel the pain of losing a loved one was my attempt to hide from what I saw. The truth was, it was easier to deal with depression than fear. What I saw in the hospital room with my mother-in-law scared me. What I saw when I found my grandmother scared me..... I'd never been that close to death before and I didn't know how to process it. I still don't.
What I do know is that now that I've stopped trying to expedite the healing process, I've been able to sleep again.
Sometimes I still have nightmares--I see my mother in law's face, her eyes desperately trying to convey a message that I just can't understand or my grandmother's face, swollen and puckered, yet peaceful. Mostly, however, I wrap myself in a deep, dreamless sleep.
I don't know if I'm doing it right--grieving and coping, that is--but little by little, I'm realizing that there's nothing to be self-conscious about. As much literature as there is about moving on and healing and recovering, it's mostly a guessing game of what provides relief.
I need to stop forcing myself to feel or process emotions and memories that I'm just not ready to deal with now. I'm not doing myself any favors, and my husband can bear witness to just how unhelpful it really is....
Besides, I'm kind of a big girl.... If there was a one-size-fits-all fix for this, it would probably be too small anyway.
Another very wise man, your father. More good advice. It always helps to get to the root of the issue and work from there. It was traumatic and frightening to be that close to death. It is probably hard to come to terms with everything working out just so, to have you there to be the one to find your grandmother. It was meant to happen this way, not to scare you or throw you into depression, but to initiate you into the woman you are becoming. The fear and depression are side effects that, while difficult to navigate through, become part of the journey where you discover the gifts that your life has to offer. With your mother-in-law, you and Devon were two very important souls to have present in her dying moments to comfort her on her transition. I have been there for a few others' dying moments as well. It is heart-wrenching...even when you are as familiar with death as a transformation rather than an ending, as I am. In retrospect, though, being there for someone during that time is quite a beautiful thing...though it appears to be physically gruesome, emotionally depressing, and altogether fearful at the time. What happens after that final moment is such a blessing to that person...we often forget that because we are dealing with the human aftermath of the situation. I can't tell you that it gets easier as we encounter more and more instances of mortality...it doesn't. But it shapes us into better people as we learn from it to be more alive.
ReplyDelete