Dear People,
I have to remind myself often that it's only 4 months now, 4 months to face the fact that Jack isn't coming back. And it doesn't adhere to my mental or emotional reality 100% yet. I've gotten to the point that I know it is no longer a long visit with his Dad or an out-of-town tournament. But sometimes, I miss him so badly, so enormously, that I slip back into that hope that he's coming back soon. An eery yet fascinating observation I am witnessing within myself of that strong defense called "denial." I have to remind myself of being at Jack's death. I even-morbidly as this may sound-took a picture of him in bed after his death, just to help me know later it was real; it really did happen, I'm not imagining. I bump into the picture several times now, and it's such a stark dose of reality at a painful level. BUT it does it job of cutting through the denial, painfully so.
I spent 2 hours driving to the cabin a couple of weeks ago thinking of all the things I miss and I filled the 2-hours easily and several pages of my journal writing them all down. I must say, "I miss you, Jack" a dozen times a time.
Now, it's the "triggers" that punches me in my gut, drops me to my knees, and I am sometimes awashed with tears so quickly so that I do not even have time to wipe them before they are dropping from my face. A song, a food, a mutually shared activity/act. I was out on an errand in town and saw a teen with her last name printed on the back of her sweatshirt, and I was both smiling and tearful as the name was simply, "Jack." What are the chances of seeing that in the middle of the day?!?! (OK, after seeing the name, I thought, "What isn't she in school?" The educator lives on.) Someone said that he will send messages to me. He did and does.
I've started to clean out the Bellevue house's garage and basement. Tossed dozens of VCR tapes, knowing I will never look at them alone. I sorted hundreds of nails into bins, going through the duplication of tools. BUT, I can endure doing that for about an hour or two, and I'm suddenly looking at what feels like a hundred of decisions and tasks, and I freeze. I can't figure out what comes next and I do nothing but quit for another day. The "freezes" frustrate me, yet, I know I cannot force the mind to go where and when the heart is not ready. Such a dance, such a dance.
Months ago, Jack asked if he was "melting" and, now, I am feeling that I'm "fading." I get his "melting" in my living. I don't feel my energy, my focus, just anything to do with who I was 4 months ago. I lack focus, concentration, enthusiasm, drive. I set a goal of accomplishing three things a day, Three. Jack's and my studies are a mess, dining room table has piles of paper-type tasks, and the breakfast bar in the kitchen has just enough room for my breakfast plate. It both drives me nuts and simultaneously, I don't care. Some moments, I hurt so bad that I feel incapable of movement. Yet, I get out of bed because a "4-pedder" (Annie B) needs her care. I do the "three goals/tasks a day" because I feel better after doing something, anything, and I know it, so that's why I do that goal. I exercise and eat well because I both know my body needs it and that this body will be what will carry this heart and soul down this healing path.
The counselor in me knows this path. I have walked along many a kid down it in my work. So, you all know that I am not walking the path alone. I know better. I have many "guides", many "pit stops", many companions, who, although have not lost their partner, know what lost is and are present with their hearts with mine. It's just a long f*cking path, if you excuse the language. It's long and I must walk it. There's no sprint, no avoiding the inevitable. And I both shake my fists at the heavens for taking him so soon and drop to my knees in thanksgiving we had what we had.
For you caregivers out there, know that I'm set for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thanks for the thoughts and invites so soon. You're all jewels in the crown of my life.
In the here and now,
Tally
P.S. Attached is the picture of his tool belt in a framed shadow box. I picked it up yesterday.(Great timing, uh?) The framer did a great job. I was crying as the young man at the shop unwrapped it to show me. I knew I could never tossed or give that belt and hammer away. I'm heading over to the cabin before Thanksgiving to hang it in the garage. Meanwhile, it's in the back of my car to show and carry something of his with me.
I have to remind myself often that it's only 4 months now, 4 months to face the fact that Jack isn't coming back. And it doesn't adhere to my mental or emotional reality 100% yet. I've gotten to the point that I know it is no longer a long visit with his Dad or an out-of-town tournament. But sometimes, I miss him so badly, so enormously, that I slip back into that hope that he's coming back soon. An eery yet fascinating observation I am witnessing within myself of that strong defense called "denial." I have to remind myself of being at Jack's death. I even-morbidly as this may sound-took a picture of him in bed after his death, just to help me know later it was real; it really did happen, I'm not imagining. I bump into the picture several times now, and it's such a stark dose of reality at a painful level. BUT it does it job of cutting through the denial, painfully so.
I spent 2 hours driving to the cabin a couple of weeks ago thinking of all the things I miss and I filled the 2-hours easily and several pages of my journal writing them all down. I must say, "I miss you, Jack" a dozen times a time.
Now, it's the "triggers" that punches me in my gut, drops me to my knees, and I am sometimes awashed with tears so quickly so that I do not even have time to wipe them before they are dropping from my face. A song, a food, a mutually shared activity/act. I was out on an errand in town and saw a teen with her last name printed on the back of her sweatshirt, and I was both smiling and tearful as the name was simply, "Jack." What are the chances of seeing that in the middle of the day?!?! (OK, after seeing the name, I thought, "What isn't she in school?" The educator lives on.) Someone said that he will send messages to me. He did and does.
I've started to clean out the Bellevue house's garage and basement. Tossed dozens of VCR tapes, knowing I will never look at them alone. I sorted hundreds of nails into bins, going through the duplication of tools. BUT, I can endure doing that for about an hour or two, and I'm suddenly looking at what feels like a hundred of decisions and tasks, and I freeze. I can't figure out what comes next and I do nothing but quit for another day. The "freezes" frustrate me, yet, I know I cannot force the mind to go where and when the heart is not ready. Such a dance, such a dance.
Months ago, Jack asked if he was "melting" and, now, I am feeling that I'm "fading." I get his "melting" in my living. I don't feel my energy, my focus, just anything to do with who I was 4 months ago. I lack focus, concentration, enthusiasm, drive. I set a goal of accomplishing three things a day, Three. Jack's and my studies are a mess, dining room table has piles of paper-type tasks, and the breakfast bar in the kitchen has just enough room for my breakfast plate. It both drives me nuts and simultaneously, I don't care. Some moments, I hurt so bad that I feel incapable of movement. Yet, I get out of bed because a "4-pedder" (Annie B) needs her care. I do the "three goals/tasks a day" because I feel better after doing something, anything, and I know it, so that's why I do that goal. I exercise and eat well because I both know my body needs it and that this body will be what will carry this heart and soul down this healing path.
The counselor in me knows this path. I have walked along many a kid down it in my work. So, you all know that I am not walking the path alone. I know better. I have many "guides", many "pit stops", many companions, who, although have not lost their partner, know what lost is and are present with their hearts with mine. It's just a long f*cking path, if you excuse the language. It's long and I must walk it. There's no sprint, no avoiding the inevitable. And I both shake my fists at the heavens for taking him so soon and drop to my knees in thanksgiving we had what we had.
For you caregivers out there, know that I'm set for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thanks for the thoughts and invites so soon. You're all jewels in the crown of my life.
In the here and now,
Tally
P.S. Attached is the picture of his tool belt in a framed shadow box. I picked it up yesterday.(Great timing, uh?) The framer did a great job. I was crying as the young man at the shop unwrapped it to show me. I knew I could never tossed or give that belt and hammer away. I'm heading over to the cabin before Thanksgiving to hang it in the garage. Meanwhile, it's in the back of my car to show and carry something of his with me.
