No Apologies

At the beginning of my grief-journey, Clay told me things would get better. I didn’t believe him at all. How could things get better when everything had gone so terribly wrong? I couldn’t fathom the thought. I thought nothing would ever get better. I still remember watching the red line train coming down the track and knowing that if I wanted to, I could jump off the platform and end my life. I also remember knowing that I didn’t want to end my life, I just wanted to be past all of the shock, horror, pain and sadness. And I still remember the fog.

Shock is a curious phenomenon. I remember being in the middle of the grief-fog and I remember being afraid that I would feel the numbness for the rest of my life. I felt as though I had been sedated and covered with a heavy, wet blanket. For months, I moved through my life with that sensation and the wonder of whether what I was experiencing was the new me, or just a temporary state.

There’s a man at work who is stationed in India. He sends a daily quote each morning to those of us who have asked to be added to his distribution list. I am one of those people. The other day, the quote I began my day with changed something very deep within me and lifted whatever fibers of wet blanket may have been left behind when my shock dissipated.

God brings men into deep waters not to drown them, but to cleanse them.
-John H. Aughey

I do feel cleansed in so many ways. Sadly...and happily...I can feel myself putting my ordeal into the past. I keep it in a beautiful, engraved box lined with soft velvet and when I am ready, I will lock the box and place the key into the deepest part of my heart for safekeeping. The box will forever remain in a luxury suite in my brain’s memory, where I can retrieve its contents and pay tribute whenever I wish.

Even though I feel better, conjuring a vivid memory of Chris’ face will bring me into a whirlpool of tears, longing, wishing and memories of holding him in my arms. I don’t mind. There are times — moments, hours, days, weeks — when turmoil is the only emotion I want to be feeling. I know there are some folks who cannot understand the desire to mourn for a lost love one. It is just that, a desire, something I want to do and something my soul needs to do. Mourning is love.

I’m off to run 5 miles and hopefully ingest a delicious Dunkin' Donuts caramel coolata.

Serenely,
Shneed