The emotional distress started to make me feel sick all the time and it came to the point that I just couldn't continue like this anymore. I decided that my first step to healing was to talk to people who have experienced the same type of loss, and by doing this it helped me realize that everything I was feeling was normal.
I could see my four-year-old son playing on the slide, but my two-year-old son was out of sight -- not unusual as we had a very large, gated yard. I didn't even have time to cover myself before a woman came around the corner, a look of fury on her face and my two-year-old on her hip. "DO YOU KNOW WHERE I JUST FOUND YOUR CHILD?" she screeched.
I have no patience. I'm snippy, rude and have a short fuse. I think my kids' behaviour is atrocious. Is this because I am newly widowed and stressed out or am I just another mom dealing with kids? I don't know the line between what is normal and what is a result of our grief? I am confused, frustrated and feel like a failure as a parent.
The first time I carried a child, I suddenly had this intense urge to be closer to my mom. It was hard going through a pregnancy and a stressful birth experience without my mother's guidance and support (cancer can quit now, OK?), and I keep coming up against questions I really wish I could ask my mama, but that must be left unanswered.
We grieve for the dead, but, in reality, we are grieving the pain of the loss of connection with our loved one. I suggest there might be more than merely the physical plane and your deceased loved ones are applauding your efforts regularly. You know the feeling of love and connection; perhaps, it is closer than you think.
The holidays are a joyful time of celebration and coming together with friends and family. But for families who have lost a loved one, the holidays can be especially difficult. Old memories and traditions offer reminders of loved ones no longer there. Families who have lost babies can find the holidays particularly bittersweet.
Talking more about one attack or reacting more passionately to it does not a narrow response make, nor does it mean you are a bigot who wants your country's doors closed to refugees. What I would like is for the hectoring posturers out there to understand that Paris, in many ways, represents the apex of Western culture.
The film is, on the surface, about a botched space mission that leaves Matt Damon stranded on Mars. It's also a film for anyone who's found themselves thousands of miles away from the life they'd planned. If you've lost a child, lost a spouse, survived a crime, been disabled, been diagnosed with a critical illness, you likely have had moments when you feel alone on a strange planet with no guarantee of making it back home.
Life is for the living. In the years to come you will wake thinking about your son and not his suicide. In accepting loss, your mind will search for memories of life before depression and suicide became part of your lexicon. There will be much work to do in your son's name and in support of youth suicide prevention.
I am hoping that these two losses prepare the boys enough that they know there is no shame in crying, in openly grieving. Nor is there shame in laughing at the goofy, silly and funny memories. That grief comes in waves. That part of loving is sometimes letting go but that you get up, dust yourself off and continue on with your life.
Since Mike died I am a one-woman wrecking crew. Unfortunately, my body is the demolition site. On my left forearm I have an deep yellow, inch-and-a-half-long bruise. On the underside, I have an angry red scrape that curls around from front to back. On one palm, I have a wee boo boo. Further down, I have four pink slashes, in various states of healing, across my shin.