Flooded at the Sink

Standing over the kitchen sink, dinner in the making. Waves and waves of thoughts flowing through her mind…does that reel ever stop? The memory of her little girl bouncing in, always wanting to help Momma. “What-chu making?”, was the question of the hour. Mom would answer, “Pos, food.” Giggles and rolling of the eyes would follow. Suddenly these precious memories are dampened by the memories of her own childhood.

For The RunawayJunior High doesn’t bring cherished memories, however, Home-ec class yielded some good results. Learning to make spaghetti sauce and cinnamon rolls was a tasty experience. Recipes that are still in practice today.

Ah, yes, the day she learned to make spaghetti sauce was a memorable one. She came home so excited, ready to share this amazing accomplishment (at least she thought so) with her mother. Let’s just say there were no pats-on-the-back or words of affirmation.

Somewhere along the way, mother, begrudgingly decided to let her make this “foreign cuisine”. Oh, how excited The Runaway was! She knew they would like it. Mother bought her all the necessary ingredients and off she went into full mode cooking gear. Mother’s frown and side looks could not dissuade her. However, even though Mother agreed to her cooking this meal, mother still made the regular dinner, cause “who would eat that porquería”.

Let’s just say Dad liked it, a lot. No, he wasn’t like A Father building his daughter up. But, after careful inspection, he scarfed-it down. And, as time went, he would ask Mother to buy the necessary ingredients for his daughter to make this foreign dish.

And so went the wave of memories. Always a mixture of emotions.

Dinner is finished…let’s go eat 🙂

Grief Group

She decided it was time. One day short of twenty-one months. Tic-Toc, Tic-Toc…can you hear time churning? Thankful for a peaceful commute, and a settled mind focusing on navigating directions. It’s here! Deep breath, prayer…more breathing…let’s go!

Two women buzzing around. Do they see me? No smile, no hello…wait, am I at The Writer’s Club? Deep breath…just stay; fight the urge to run out. “Oh, wait, another women just arrived. She’s too bubbly to be here”, was her immediate thought. This is so painfully awkward. Being an Introvert makes the silence worse. And, so began a grueling two hour ordeal…

“What am I trying to prove? Who am I trying to impress? Why put myself in a torturous situation? Do I not hurt enough? How is it that my mindset is so skewed, so jumbled? I HATE THIS!!!”, and so went an onslaught of chaotic waves of thought, upon thought, upon thought.

There were times I thought, “Yes, the Plastic Faces are coming off!” NOT! Only a glimpse was allowed before the masks were securely fasten, back into place…let’s continue the masquerade.

“Why? What are we afraid of? Is reality so difficult, I’d rather live a lie? Do I not want to be open and vulnerable because of fear? Fear of judgment; fear of being misunderstood; fear of what?”, waves and waves of punches of the mind.

Someone decides to vomit; to splatter all she has been holding onto; to open the gates of her mind in a relentless way. The vent up guilt, trauma flowing. The wrestling with what she thought she knew, which pales in comparison to what is happening to her day after day. She doesn’t shut up! She keeps going! Only to get cliches and pat answers. GRRRR!!!

As I am in my chair, shaking uncontrollably! Being horribly triggered by the rawness of this woman. “Run! Go! Escape! Make her shut up! Why is she saying that? I can’t hear this anymore!”, thoughts that came into the spiraling mind. With the added guilt of not being compassionate enough. However, how do I help her out when I’m in my own spiral?

Home now. “How did I get home? What happened?” Unceasing crying and screaming with tumultuous spasms ensue. Beating myself up for not knowing better; for going, too soon; for not being in control.

Finally safe, curled up in a ball…spaced out, exhausted…sleep is welcomed. BUT the nightmares and images assailed my already beat-up soul. And, so, goes my journey with grief…an unwelcomed companion.

Yeah, I’m thinking it wasn’t time – for this :-\

Unpredictable Waves

~ wave after ~ wave ~ after wave

how to prepare? how to brace?

unpredictable, unseen, unexpected

laid out, crumbled…yet, fighting to breathe

screaming, punching, tearing at my flesh

numb yet fully engaged…quiet yet horribly loud

the spirals that comes from nowhere

the feelings that are everywhere

once again, it hits…AND there’s nothing to do, but…

Just Breathe…

The Lego Effect

Have you ever stepped on a Lego? Walking into a room, minding your own business, when WAMMO! The pain, the agony, jerk, the bouncing on one leg…did I mention the pain?

Yup, I’ve hit a wall! I’ve “stepped” on a gazillion legos. Grief is such an intricate beast.

This month has been filled with Baby Showers, Bridal Showers, Birth Announcements, Wedding Invitations, and on and on. I have been purposeful about making decisions to attend or not to attend without feeling guilty or like I “have-to-be-there” (therapy is helping). Can I just pat myself on the back, cause, I believe I’ve done well, thank you!

BUT it hit! And, it hit hard! Horrid panic/anxiety attack. Anger. Screaming. Stomach knots. Difficulty breathing.

I’ll never see my daughter in a wedding dress…I’ll never hold her child….I’ll never celebrate with her a birth announcement….I’ll never…I’ll never…I’ll never…SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!

~ Sigh ~

When my brain quiets down, I KNOW my daughter is not missing out on anything. She is whole and complete. I have peace and assurance that I will hold her in my arms again. Then, and only then, will this assault of my mind and emotions will be over.

In the meantime, I hunker down and allow the waves to come. I don’t fight my feelings and emotions or condemn myself for feeling this way. I’m learning to ride them out. And, as I step on them “legos”, I’ll jump and scream and writhe in pain. It won’t be forever, cause there’s no legos in heaven 😉

Goodbye 2018

I decided to pick a word for 2018, as a popular trend encourages one to do.

~ throughwas the word I picked

2018 is on it’s last days, and 2019 is on the horizon. Yes, it looks like I will make it “through”. Not pretty, not flawless, not smooth sailing at all! Sometimes walking, at times crawling, or should I say, “dragging”? And many times barely breathing.

The hodgepodge of emotions is…well…scrambled, with no rhyme or reason. Normalcy is a figment of my imagination. Making sense of it all, can create a senseless existence. Acceptance, surrender…acceptance, surrender…on repeat.

Bittersweet” – a word that continues to be made clearer in my foggy mind. The mixture of emotions that, seemingly, do not mix. The joy of dancing under the stars with my son, along with the ache of not having my daughter. The laughter while sharing a meal, as the tears flow remembering her favorite food. Christmas filled with wonder, as we sit in front of a headstone.

Phrases like, “I could never…” “I’ve always done it like…”, and so on, are completely obliterated from my vocabulary. Because, guess what?! My plan, my agenda…the “I did it my way”, well is just creating more chaos, in my already scrambled brain. Rethinking. Regrouping. Reevaluating.

Walking into a therapist office because my “doctor made me do it”, and fighting every urge in me to run the other way. An inner fight with stigma, with the semblance of weakness, with condemning voices.

Wanting to explain my every action or non-action. Hearing judgment, disappointment, disillusionment.

Being vulnerable, transparent, frail, needy…against every fiber that says, “you got this!” Cause, being weak and needy, is just not passé.

Will I pick a word for 2019? Not sure, yet. Would you pick a word?

AND, so, we say goodbye to another year. What will this coming year bring? Only God knows. All, I know is that I just have to get through this moment in time. The rest is out of my hands.

Grief Unchained

Have you ever read something or been told something, so you think “you know” and are “prepared“? (OMG, this word does NOT belong next to or in the vicinity of grief!!!) — Yeah, no creative writing going on around here.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about all the information that is out there regarding “the first year after losing a loved one”. First…everything!

My first Christmas without my daughter was a total BLUR! However, I was “prepared” for “it” to be the worst. AND, let me tell you, I attempted “everything” I had read or been advised to do in order to “minimize” and get through the pain. I even attempted to “be-other-centered” so as to not “turn-in-to-myself”(other peoples words, not mine). Oh, the going caroling at the senior center; the visiting shut-ins and singing songs; the hospitality. What was I thinking?!?!?! Let me tell you, the “pleasing-people-chart” was filled with stars and happy faces. However, I was dying inside. But, true to myself (haha!), I kept this up until I collapsed. Which landed me at my doctors office; which landed me in the ER; which landed me in therapy.

In one of my many talks with My Grieving Friend she said to me, “Grief demands our attention. You cannot ignore it. It will show up whether you like it or not. You might as well pay attention to it and deal with it in a healthy manner.” Now, did I think I was ignoring my grief? Absolutely not! I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other (and, pleasing people while I was at it). My physical body knew otherwise, and hence its total shut down.

Sitting here today – my second Christmas without my daughter – the anesthesia completely gone…fully awake…there isn’t a substance or activity in this world that will take away the pain or even remotely minimize it!

MY DAUGHTER IS NEVER WALKING THROUGH THE DOOR

MY DAUGHTER IS NEVER – ETC., ETC., ETC.,

This side of heaven “it” will never be ok. I’m a Scrooge! I’m a Grinch! If, I could hibernate until all the joyful-sounds were over, I would. However, I know that when I come out of hibernation, the pain will still be there😥💔