I had certain expectations from you, this grief thing. I somehow thought that the more time passes, the more you get used to your new lot.
You are supposed to get "better" with time, aren't you?
Instead, it increasingly feels that each passing year can be a reminder of "how long since".
Each mile stone a reminder that there is a Sproggy-shaped hole in our midst and that time is moving at the speed of sound, apparently.
Each innocent comment like someone saying how nice it will be for my husbands parents to have a second grandchild can seem like a slap in the face (there is another one on the way alright, courtesy of the Swedish contingent. It is the third, however, but yes, it will be very nice indeed :)).
And so I get caught in this spiral of feeling sad, feeling guilty about feeling sad because it seems you are bringing the whole world down with you and ultimately feeling like a failure as a mother, wife, sister, daughter and friend because because you do not have the strength to pull yourself out of that spiral.
After all, the world keeps turning, moving on. So are the people in it. So shouldn't I? Maybe the world is just throwing one last look at me over its shoulder going: Ya coming? No? Still "there"? Grand so, suit yourself.
You see, world, as much as you and me want me to, I cannot just "move on", snap out of it and get better in a nice sort of linear manner. There are so many ups and downs and setbacks. You might helpfully pull me along some of the way so I get up and do the things that need to be done and live a little but I keep falling behind.
Don't you know I am not the same anymore?
I have to live with his absence, every day.
I have the memory of his dying with me, every day.
I have to think of our family and friends who miss him too...especially those who did not get to say good bye and those whom we probably owe a honeymoon (see, life, your timing truly stinks!).
I have to make sense of why I cannot seem to bring myself to travel anything farther than a car journey from home.(??!)
To you, he was probably just another little boy; a has-been by now; fading out of your memory. To me, he was my world.
Sometimes, all that is just much much harder to deal with than other times and you wonder how you are supposed to keep going without losing your sanity altogether.
Right now, I just want to pull the covers over my head, sleep, wake up and find all of this has gone away. Can I, please? I am sure it is the two year mark looming later on this month but seriously, when do you know it actually did get too much and at what point should one go looking for magic happy pills? :/
Just not sure what is normal in this process anymore...You confuse me, grief.
Of course I do not want to look back at my life and see only you. I want to live, cherish every moment with the husband (who is a true saint for putting up with me), Eoghan (that smily, affectionate little dude, full of hugs and kisses for anyone who'll have him) and any other little ones we might be allowed to have and think happily back to the times we had with Patrick.
So maybe I can manage to pull myself out of this pool of sadness, self-pity and heartache before the world (or I) loses patience with me.
Suggestions welcome cos that pool has slippery walls and feels just that bit too comfy and familiar at times.
