Grief

     Navigating through this overwhelming grief since Julian's accident has been incredibly hard. It's impossible to compare our pain to anything else. Dealing with Julian's paralysis is a different kind of heartache, not like losing a family member. Trying to go through the grief process while pretending everything is normal, all while still taking care of our three kids, feels like an impossible balancing act. As parents, we often put on a happy face to comfort others, even when we're falling apart inside. I can vividly recall Chris and me breaking down on the side of the road, but somehow finding the strength to be composed when Julian was with us. Now, 2.5 years later, I'm still waiting for this heaviness I feel everyday to lighten a bit.

    I recently came across another father's post about his child with special needs. As parents, we initially prepare ourselves for an 18-year journey of taking care of our children to give them what they need to live independently from us. However, when presented with a child facing unique challenges, probably destined never reach that stage, the thought process has to change. Now, the preparation extends to caring for them over a span of 50+ years, and the ever present question remains—what will become of them when we are no longer able to provide care and support, but physically and financially?

    This ever present concern for Julian's future, lives with me daily. In contrast to the conventional worries of retirement savings, I find myself thinking of the weighty responsibility of securing Julian's sustained well-being and coming up with a plan for his care in my absence. It is an undeniably a huge stressor and one I don't have answers for.

Recently, I talked to  a therapist in hopes that I could be given a cure for my overwhelming  sense of despair. Though I understand that no magical cure awaited me, the effort to not hold all my thoughts and feelings inside sounded like a good idea. My grief, however, proved to be a different kind of loss that could be solved with worksheets. It is the kind of loss that is permanent, an ever-present companion with no conceivable end. I decided the one time was enough and hopefully I can find other means to help ease the pain that remains. I'm not sure the saying "time heals all wounds" is going to hold true in this situation, but hopefully the wounds will soften.

    As a nurse, the initial stages were marked by devastating nights, tears shed to friends, fellow nurses, in lonely hallways, and in the comfort of my husband and family. In the whirlwind of attempting to "fix" the problem, there was always something demanding attention. Yet, as reality becomes more apparent, the future appears in a  less optimistic light. Life has settled into a monotonous routine, similar to  Groundhog Day, where each morning brings the repetition of the previous. Loneliness pervades, and the scope of our capabilities steadily diminishes. The logistical challenges of even the simplest outings raise the questions about their worthiness, and often, the answer leans towards no, which further proves isolating.

 Lilly and I have been  binge-watching Grey's Anatomy. Remarkably, some of the most resounding quotes I've encountered have come from this show. One particular quote that had me was, "Some grief is heavier than other grief. Sometimes it moves through you, and sometimes it just gets stuck, and you carry it." Most days, it feels as though what I carry is almost unbearable, a weight threatening to crush me. Despite external appearances, internally, the pain is substantial. Lingering grief becomes an unwelcome companion, casting shadows on days when the mere act of navigating through life feels impossible.

Another significant quote said was, "The depth of grief that you feel with the losses, it's because of the depth of love." The love a parent harbors for their child amplifies the anguish when faced with loss, leaving a void that seems insurmountable.  The love for your child is like no other and when they hurt, as parents we can't help but hurt twice as much.   I've learned to accept that there will be days when the effort to get out of bed is the most difficult thing to do, taking advantage when I don't have to be "on". "The very worst part is that the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again, and always, every time, it takes your breath away."

While it makes  me feel good to hear others commend my ability to  in navigate this unexpected life, the truth lies beneath the surface. I would give anything for the days of pre accident, where spontaneity and freedom ruled, smiles were real and laughter was the norm and not some foreign sound. The ache intensifies when witnessing others enjoying in life's simple pleasures, unburdened by the complex medical challenges we face. For the sake of others' comfort, the response of "everything is fine" becomes my unwavering response, concealing the truth that, often, nothing truly is.

 

 

Quotes that have hit home.  

 

“Grief never ends, but it changes.  It’s a passage, not a place to stay.  Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith…. It is the price of love.”

 

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing.  Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming.  All we can do is learn to swim.”

 

“To be a good mother while my heart was breaking was one of the hardest roles I’ve ever had to play.”

 

“I am so tired of worrying about everything, for everyone, every second of the day.  But I am also worried that nobody will worry as good as I do about all the things that need worrying about.”

 

“I know I’m going to get through it.   I’m just tired of going through it.”

 

“Grief isn’t just present on the bluest of days.  It’s there on all good days too.  Beneath the smiles and laughter there will always be an undercurrent of sadness.”

 

“I use the broken pieces of what once was me to patch up everyone else, and no one has noticed, I’m almost completely empty.”

 

“I don’t think anyone really understands how tiring it is to act okay and always be strong when in reality you’re close to the edge.”

 

“It has been said, time heals all wounds.  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens.  But it is never gone.”

 

“People think that because I keep going, I don’t hurt.  Let me be very clear…. I hurt and I keep going.”