It comes in waves.
June is always the worst.
It usually hits me all at once.
Like some sort of horrible tornado.
Touching down in some places, leaving others safe and secure.
But leaving a path of destruction behind it.
But now . . . right now.
Waves.
It came earlier this year.
At least a week ahead of schedule.
No trigger.
No panic attack.
No premeditation over the moment when I allow myself to let go.
To be angry.
To cry.
To mourn.
To grieve.
I was thinking about writing my story.
About the chapters that are soon to come.
About all those years ago.
About Aunt Kathy.
About Grandma.
About Mom.
I want the details.
I want to write it accurately.
But remembering is so hard.
Remembering hurts.
It's too late to concentrate on details.
I can write tomorrow.
I need sleep now.
So I close my eyes.
I'm left with one memory.
One single memory that breaks the damn and suddenly tears soak through my pillow.
I have to control myself.
If Matt wakes, he'll worry.
After all, it's too soon for his wife to be losing it.
She's got another ten days until her annual breakdown.
One memory has me leaving my room covering my mouth.
I need an escape.
Need to cry alone.
Need to write.
Writing helps get it out of me in a healthy way.
Out of hearing distance I have to make a sound.
It hurts too much to be silent.
Silence makes me feel guilty.
Like I'm ignoring it all.
Trying to forget.
But I need to remember.
One memory.
An image seared into my eyes, mind, heart and soul.
I remember it all.
The sounds.
The feelings.
The smells.
The sight.
Two headstones and a casket.
Three parents gone from this world.
Women taken too early.
To the left a large vertical headstone marks Kathy's grave.
The casket in the center, shiny and covered in roses is Grandma.
At fifteen I fully understand death.
I'm angry.
I'm devastated.
I'm empty.
The family gathers around the casket and one another.
I take a moment to myself.
I remove a rose from Grandma's casket, and I step to the right.
My knees buckle and my new black dress catches freshly mowed grass.
I set the rose down on the headstone.
Mom.
I hear people behind me finally cry aloud.
I was their breaking point.
Three mothers dead now.
The sight for them is too much to bear.
Poor girl.
I can feel the sympathy coming at me.
I can't take it.
I just want to be left alone with my Mom.
All of them.
The memory is hard to relive.
Causes me to panic.
Makes me check Matt.
Is he breathing? Moving? Alive?
Can't tell in the dark.
I pull at the hair on his arm and he swats his hand at me, still sleeping.
Relief.
Thank you, God.
Some days I'd rather feel numb.
I can be numb all year long.
Be calm.
Collected.
But June...
That's another story.
I give myself permission to lose it.
To cry.
To scream.
To be angry.
To scream.
To be angry.
To really, really, really miss them.
Miss her.
On Kathy's headstone it says, "Legend" across the center of it in big letters.
Grandma's should say, "Hero".
Mom's should say, "Angel".
One day, hopefully a very, very long time from now....
Mine will say, "Chosen".
9 comments:
I do the same thing to my husband when he is sleeping. I hate when he snores, but at least I know he's still breathing. I have anxiety about that and I haven't remotely experienced the kind of loss you have.
And you give yourself all the permission in the world.
Jia, this was so naked. I can see it all, and feel like I'm seeing your innermost soul. You are a gifted writer.
I am so sorry for your pain. I understand checking your husband to make sure he's breathing. I don't even have anxiety issues like you and Kristina, but I still check my husband and baby every night.
I know I'm horrible at commenting, but I've been reading. Loved your story about you and Matt. And I hope June passes quickly for you.
I wish there was anything that I could say to lessen your pain. But I'm glad you give yourself permission to grieve and to feel. It takes so much strength to accept the pain instead of trying to bury it, like we all attempt to do at one time or another.
You are one of the strongest women I have ever had the pleasure and honor to know. And you have a truly beautiful soul. I love you, and you're always an inspiration to me.
Like Wonder Woman said, I'm so sorry for your pain. You'll be in my thoughts and prayers.
Oh Jia, the pain you've felt just oozes from these words. I am so sorry you have gone through so much.
Thank you guys for your constant words of support. I'm okay. Really. This is how I work through it.
I am with you on this. I've been mourning, too. My uncle Sonny just died, and I'm greiving my grandparents (all on my blog). It's so difficult. I know that we're supposed to take ocmfort that they are in the most excellent place that exists, but I still miss them incredibly. So i just cry when I have to, write about it, do whatever I have to do to make it through. I'll remember you in my prayers.
xo Erin
I've found a great amount of healing in writing, especially this year for some reason. Despite how hard it has been, writing gets it out in ways that words just can't. And yes, we are supposed to take comfort, and I know I do - but the human mind can only understand so much. So often, even those of us who have seen things that prove that life goes on after we die . . . there is always doubt. It's just what happens, and that's when fear sets in and grief really takes over.
Missing them too, is the greatest hardship.
Likewise, I'll include you in my prayers.
I'm glad I found your blog. I needed to hear your thoughts today about loss. I'm so sorry for your memories of June. I'll be having a rough July.
I've found a great amount of healing in writing, especially this year for some reason. Despite how hard it has been, writing gets it out in ways that words just can't. And yes, we are supposed to take comfort, and I know I do - but the human mind can only understand so much. So often, even those of us who have seen things that prove that life goes on after we die . . . there is always doubt. It's just what happens, and that's when fear sets in and grief really takes over.
Missing them too, is the greatest hardship.
Likewise, I'll include you in my prayers.
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