Grief or Not?

Lots of times I write in my head. I could be doing something, get distracted and off I go, silently, mentally writing in my head. I could be driving or cooking, or eating dinner, doesn't matter. Other times, I have entire conversations in my head. Like the other person is there, in my head, or invisibly in front of me and we have entire conversations. Does this mean I'm crazy? I think it does.

You know it's bad when you are taking a shower and half way through, even as a surprise to your own spirit and conciousness, you let out a wail, and start sobbing. Why am I crying? No real reason to cry anymore, what is going on? Sure it could be the obvious residual sadness and time of year but I'm not sure it's that. It could be a fraction of the equation, I suppose. I suppose it could. But I'm not sure it is. Maybe that's the problem. I don't know why I'm feeling this way. Imagining I'm in front of the therapist I used to go to, I decide to let it all out. And thank God I'm home alone, because, really, I'm sure the boys would have been alarmed to hear me. Falling into a ball on the floor of the shower and letting it all drain away can be cathartic. Watching the tears meld with the falling water from the shower head above is in a way healing, it's like watching the emotions of your life blend together with the racing minutes, hours, and days, of the real world, all coming together whether you want them to or not. It's kind of like adding salt and sugar, or lime and orange--and knowing the combination is ok. That it is going to be OK. It actually IS ok now. But still the reality is that the tears are there and they are real. Laying naked with the water beating down on my back while I am curled into a ball sobbing my guts out is so real. Therapist used to say, cry privately, no more in front of your Oldest. It's confusing for him, he doesn't understand. I got it the first time she said it. My God, we tell him that Lucas is in Heaven and it's a good place, he is with God, safe, and happy, and not sick or hurting from all the needles and being cut open constantly to save his heart or his lungs or his kidneys, no more silent tears running down his face as he lay anesthetized (and if this didn't kill me then, it surely kills me now as I remember it). So we say he's ok, he's in Heaven, yet I cry. To the Oldest (mainly back then when this was all fresh and new) he was mixed up, wondering why the contradiction. Mom if he's ok, why are you still crying? These are things you have to address when you have a child old enough to talk and think and process some microlevel of death, and the death of a sibling at that.

I digress; as per the norm.

My mood, my tears, my low energy this week, last week, mostly this week, not sure, but there is a lot going on, other than even memories or sadness. So it's all congealing, slamming together and forming this whatever in me. I'm not sure what it all is, maybe some home stuff, some me stuff, maybe a little Lucas stuff, definitely some unknown stuff. Is that a protective mechanism within my self to pretend I don't know what it is? I don't even know that. I really don't. I know writing about it helps immensely. So you get the brunt of it; those who dare haunt here, you get it all. I serve it up and offer it to whoever of you are there. It's all I have sometimes. Material things? Whatever. That's nothing. Yes, I love new things, I love having nice things and there are lots I want and don't have, so whatever, whatever to material things. I have them but they don't matter in the end. When I think of what I truly have, have come to posess in this life it has nothing to do with what is in our home. The inanimate objects are exactly that. Nothing that can talk back to me or give love or laughter. Oh you can see I'm all over the place. Yes, I must admit, I have been, to the farthest extremes, I have entirely been all over the place this week.

Next week, it'll be better, right?