The Waves Keep Coming

My son's birthday was a couple of weeks ago. It's always a hard time for me, watching the festivities go on without R. Suddenly I am tearing up at the smallest things. I know he is watching, but he is not here with us. I feel bad for my son, not having his Daddy there. It was a whirlwind of a week with all the grandparents coming to visit and two parties, plus a party at school... after the PARTY party, on Saturday, I think I just hit my breaking point. Sunday, I was so depressed. I had a good cry that night, you know the kind where the pain in your chest will not go away; actual heartache.  I cried myself to sleep. There have been many nights like that for me- I cry until I fall asleep. And when I get up in the morning tissues tumble onto the ground and I discover them in the pillows, etc... My tears are like parts of me that I leave around. Finding tissues that I unknowingly stuffed into the covers or the pillows is like finding little pieces of me that died. I cried this and that out, and here it is in this tissue. But the next day is always better and I can pick up those little pieces of me and throw them away. Gone. Moving on to a happier place. Having a good cry like that leaves me feeling raw and honest. Nothing anyone could do is more painful than that, so I don't feel scared of anything. You can't hurt me, I've already been though hell, you see.

Blankie

I want my Blankie I say to myself as I am getting into to bed. It's been a rough night. My son seems to be all confused and angry inside and he is taking it out on me. His defiant behavior has me stumped. My frustration level is low, just like his, and I become so angry but am determined not to take it out on him. This is not his fault. I think about how this would not be happening if R had not decided to kill himself. That doesn't mean there would not have been other problems, but it just seems so unfair that a boy so little must carry such a big burden. I did the best that I could. I made him get into the bath where I knew he would start calming down after he angrily splashed and soaked the rest of the bathroom with water. Fine. At least the bathroom's meant to get wet. After bath, I have him draw a picture of what he is feeling right now. He draws himself as sad and me as angry. So, I start crying and have to leave the room. My little one follows me and says, "Mommy, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"
I look at him crying not to completely breakdown and squeak out "yes." Then he hugs me for a while. What a sweet boy I have.
It's not his fault that I am crying, I get overwhelmed sometimes and at that moment the only thing that will clear the air is a good cry. I was having all sorts of flashbacks while all this was going on and by the end of the night I was drained. And now that its' time for me to go to bed, I am wanting something to hold on to. Something soft, cuddly, something that won't kick me in the middle of the night.

Dreams and Nightmares

Last night I had a dream, I would characterize it as a nightmare. In fact, I had a series of nightmares last night that were so wacky I thought for sure I would remember all of them today. I only remember two. The first was of R and me fighting, except he wasn't speaking at all. It was just me doing all the yelling. I took off my engagement ring and threw it at him. I felt betrayed somehow. I feel betrayed by him now, so that is not so far from reality. I have read in some books that when you dream about a deceased loved one, what is really happening is they are trying to get in touch with you. If that is true, was he just letting me yell at him so I could get it out?  Is he so otherworldly and wise now that it is beyond me to understand why he would be okay with that? I believe a little bit of everything. I believe in science, which says that our brains are sorting through things when we dream. I suppose I must admit that I am still sorting through this in my mind. And I also believe in the supernatural, because God himself is supernatural, and therefore his universe must contain some of these things. Where would miracles come from if he were not? Lately I have been thinking about how much time has passed since R's death and how it has almost been 2 years. It feels like it has taken an eternity and yet it has gone by quickly. His birthday was last week; it would have been his 40th. I really cannot believe that it has been this long. It is always close by, because I have flashbacks. They seem to escalate around these "anniversaries." Today I was in an office supply store minding my own business when I heard a song on the radio that came out just about the same time as his death. I immediately and involuntarily felt sick to my stomach. I want to throw-up, I thought. God, make it stop,...ugh I just want to throw up. It stunned me a bit, so I stood there in the middle of the aisle staring at a bunch of leather pad-folios. I don't want to think about it. I know I am supposed to let the thoughts come and let it pass, but it is so hard. It's a horrible thing to think about. I realize now that especially in the first year I was doing a lot of this behavior called "avoidance." It is exactly what it sounds like, which is to avoid anything that reminds a person of the trauma or death. I know that is why I tried so hard to continue with nursing school. It was a brilliant way to avoid dealing with the whole thing. I put it off and put if off- but eventually it breaks through. You cannot avoid for too long before it comes busting through to the surface. I thought I had beat this avoidance behavior by forcing myself to go to therapy when I knew I really needed it. But, I STILL find myself doing it now and then. I just have to remind myself that this is not going to ruin me.

After my last blog entry, I was proud in realizing that I have made some progress in my grief work. The fact that I was able to recognize it is a big deal. Usually when I have a breakdown or a crying spell, whatever you want to call it, it is difficult for me to go on with the rest of the day. But, this time I was able to pick myself up after an hour or two and get my ass out the door. I went to Sam's, walked around kind of confused, in a dream-like state with my eyes burning from the crying and dried sodium all over my face. I looked at other people and wondered if they were dealing with the same thing I was; or was it just me? Am I the only one?