A bereaved mother has a far away look in her eyes. I know I have it. I’ve seen it in others. It’s a space we’ve found that’s in between. It’s a place somewhere after the death of our child, yet not quite in the present. It’s rarely in the future. It’s often in the past. Sometimes, it’s almost here but not quite. On a clear day, out of the sheer blue sky…..we are present and functioning and we can look around and notice that the sun is shining and flowers are blooming and there is still beauty all around us. Confused? Me too.
It’s very, very difficult to control the mind. After suffering a trauma such as we have, it seems that the thoughts and memories surrounding our loss have us stuck on a hamster wheel of our own creation. Not by choice, but as a part of our human nature.
For a time, a long time, I let the hamster wheel turn. Hell, I even oiled the thing so it didn’t make that rusty metal squeaky sound. Consumed by my thoughts and everything that had happened, I ended up in auto-pilot mode. I’m sure that lots of us are still there. I told myself that I had to do the things I’d always done. So, within a month I was back at work, away from home for 12 to 14 hours a day with the commute that I had at the time. What I accomplished during that time varied. Some days during that time were the most productive of my career. Put your head down and go to work. Some, with the brain fog and anxiety that I suffered after Colton died, were spent basically taking up space (at least in my mind). For the most part, I had a work team that supported me, horrified that it happened to me and thankful that it didn’t happen to them. I had the loving and unfailing support of my husband, who during that time looked after everything, me, the house, the meals, the dog, all of it. I drank enough red wine to literally float a boat I’m sure, but there was no judgment. I simply did what I felt I needed to do. Other than Randy, my support people were all a province away. I was on my own most of the time. To those well meaning souls that gingerly suggested that I see a councilor, I stubbornly told them that unless the councilor was a mother who had lost her only child she wouldn’t know shit. I was far too angry. If angry was a moment, then I was living in it.
So what happens? Time passes, that’s what happens. Here are some of your options, I’m sure there are an infinity of them out there…
You let your grief consume you. I mean, let’s be real. It will consume you at first. You are, body, mind and soul, in shock. The absolute worst thing possible has happened to you. I remember the other worldly sounds, the long guttural wails and the pounding on the floors and being shocked and amazed and then justified that this was coming out of me. I let the moment consume me, got lost in it, but then I let it pass. Some of us simply cannot cope, and choose to join our child. Unthinkable as an option, yet happens so often.
If you choose to stick around to see what happens next, it could be this: a period of time where you are a barely functioning shadow of who you used to be. You have to force yourself to get out of bed and shower. This is sometimes referred to as a good day. The hamster wheel of grieving thought is still set on high. You are not thinking about what’s happening now, only what happened then. Certainly not what happens next.
More time passes. Remember the old saying that “Time heals all wounds”? Well, turns out that that’s a huge load of shit. This is when you realize that you will never “get over” this. So, you must learn to carry it. Muscle up….because it’s heavy.
During the muscle up weeks/months/years, several things can happen. First, your initial anger may fade a bit and the knowledge of your situation settles in for the long haul….this is who I am now. There’s a really good chance that nearly everything about you will change. You may not recognize yourself in the mirror. Did I blink and ten years went by?? Yes, I totally believe that I’ve aged that much. Health issues abound. When did nearly half of my hair fall out? When did that 20+ pounds show up? What do you mean I have 2 bleeding ulcers? Wtf….! This may thrust you into the ‘now’ for a time, as you really need to address some of these issues.
Things that were extremely important to you before mean nothing to you now. Before Colton died I was quite driven, all about the career and moving up the ladder to the next position, the next wage scale, the next…whatever. Now, you realize that you have a totally different mindset. For one thing, you are under incredible stress and you simply can’t handle much right now. Or sometimes ever again. You begin to think differently about the future and the remainder of your days. Your entire belief system may have changed. You may have been religious, now have completely walked away from it. You may have never thought about God or a higher power, and now you’re a believer. You may have watched every YouTube clip and movie about life after death or the dying process or watched Medium readings or maybe had one yourself….all of this…and much much more, is normal. Why? Because from the moment your child died, “normal” ceased to exist.
Is it easier to live in the in between? Sure. But sooner or later, on one of those clear blue days perhaps, you’ll remember who you are. You’ll be able to sit in the moment, in the now, and just breathe. Without the tears. Without the crushing pain in your chest. Without the sheer exhaustion that swirls around you like a small tornado, picking up memories, guilt, worries and doubts and blowing them in a circle around you until that’s all you can see. When you remember that the beautiful child you were given would never want to see you in the pain that you are in, and who would love nothing more than to see the rest of your life with you and what you will become.
You have to muscle up. It’s going to take incredible effort on your part. There’s nothing easy about being ‘here’. You don’t have to be ‘there’ all the time either. Give yourself the love that you once gave to your child. Stick a fork in that hamster wheel from time to time and give yourself a break. You need it. Sit in the now and really think about what is next for you. What did you love to do that you’ve forgotten for too long? Today is Day 1. Tomorrow is Day 1. Maybe we can make it what we need it to be.