After Jill's latest post, I am posting a few thoughts of my own. We are not alone in the sense of delirium. We are not alone in knowing no other recourse than to charge in every direction all at once, or the desire to leap out a window not for ending life but for ending a moment -- to safely open parachute and calmly walk away from the frequent and unpredictable grief-bursts that leave one senseless, voiceless, and directionless. I've had those as I know Diane and Jill have, and I know it is common for those who've experienced loss.
Several from the vault...
Denver in October
It's late October now, and I've been running more errands alone. It's in those moments of being alone that I get a taste of what awaits in silence when no one is there to buffer or distract. This afternoon, I walked the short distance from what will soon be Craig's old apartment to the 16th street mall-what will soon be the place I used to speed walk to for a quick bite as I gave Emily and Craig "couple time". I remember so vividly the temperature outside, the smell of the air, the concern pouring out of me. The air carries a different smell now-warm, stale and unwanted. Purposeless as if overstaying its welcome. I walked and felt purposeless. For a year, my sisters and I have dedicated every moment of our lives to Craig and Mom-seeking new treatment when tumors progressed, taking care of their every need or desire, lobbying for comfort for them when support grew weary. They're gone. Just like that. When asked of siblings, I'll now answer "I have two sisters". When asked of parents, I'll mention my dad. Mom and Craig will be part of the past tense for a lifetime ahead. Most have another 20-30 years to enjoy the company of their Mom's and even more with their brother or sibling. Why have we been robbed this love and experience so soon? I'm only 28 for crying out loud. There are at least 2 multiplications of that for knowing Craig and surely one more for Mom.
It was a soul-searching silence as I walked that short distance in a town that became my second home; I grew used to it faster than Silver Spring. To believe they actually DIED of CANCER. BOTH of them. Both. Losing either of them would bring a lifetime of sadness, but both... Some witness multiple deaths within years apart and it is earth shattering, but two deaths within 3 months? What is it called then? It doesn't make sense. Tears flooded my eyes and rolled down my face; so quickly I became that person quietly crying with her silent story, walking down a busy street. Tears like these reveal themselves as if dripping from a crack in the wall; in time the dam will break and the water will fall.
I believe it when they say this will hurt...
Silver Spring in November
I had a meeting yesterday; it was overwhelming and sad to say the least. Thoughts of them populated my mind. To say "I miss them" seems like an understatement as if they are just on a long trip and will be coming home soon. Sometimes that feeling is so palpable my heart flutters in anticipation as if I could just get through until the weekend, and then I'd see them, be with them. It's not rational; just another feeling to get used to. The "eternal" part of never seeing my mom or brother again and never hearing their voices is hard to take. Not a day passes that I don't want to call them. I think of what I'd say and imagine what their voices would sound like, what they'd say in return. Then I'm met with the letdown of never knowing.
Work is difficult at the moment. It's hard to move from an event as undoubtedly important and life-altering as watching my mom and brother slowly fade from life to finding importance in the "day to day" drivel of patient safety. Not that my job is drivel per se, it is that everything is. What could possibly matter after witnessing your mom and brother take their last breaths?
I can't concentrate very well or produce new thoughts; it's impressive how quickly I space out and lose track of all thought like cobwebs blowing in the wind. What's more remarkable is that there is little to no will power to pull it back-once a thought has passed the 10 second threshold, it's gone forever. Poof. I lose track of sentences as I speak; I can't remember the sentence I've read; I second guess everything down to the right tense in speech. I can't remember details of the week quite like I should and that is unnerving.
It's somewhat humorous if not tragic. The acronym PTSD-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder-has come up within "professional circles". Why not? We've witnessed a constant drip of tragedy and trauma, a drip that took a sense of permanency and innocence that existed just a year before. Just like that Mom and Craig were gone, and before our eyes.
At times there is a level of sheer panic and desperation, of loss and longing for the seemingly weightless and trivial times before cancer. That want can become so palpable that I can convince myself it can be so. Wait a moment, and it WILL be so.
I was reacquainting myself with the work I had left behind for 7 months. There, amidst manila folders for human factors, DMSB, analytical tools, FMEAs and the like was a folder labeled "Mom and Craig's folder". The latest notes were from my conversation with the Cleveland Clinic and validating treatment options for Craig, and discussion points with the Duke team after Mom's bout with sepsis. "The next 24 hours will be critical".... Jesus. Man alive. I felt so sad. God, I could remember that moment. How I wish I could have done more...
Being back feels like throwing confetti in the air, like a game of pick up sticks-a mess of bits and pieces to work through and make sense of. Where do you begin? Where does it end? How the hell do you fit in with confetti in your hair? I feel like the melodrama of snaking near the walls and ducking into my office would be a better fit for how it feels-exposed, vulnerable, "that girl" with "those losses". I get the sense that people don't know what to do or say. I don't blame them. I treasure the times that folks actually say just that. My response, "neither do I". We'll figure out the dance together; sure beats doing it alone. Some days I'll want to talk, others I won't. It simply comes down to being there to ask the question, "do you want to talk?", and receiving an answer. I hope people will stick around to ask the question and hear the answer...
The question of fitting in permeates social quarters, as well. Most of my peers have not experienced loss (thank god). Sadly, that means they may not relate to my circumstances. I'm already finding that to be true. The fear of fitting in-with others and the self I know to be-is profound. But, I'll take it one day at a time and things will work out.
Bringing out the crazy (December)
Well, they say that any and every emotion is true to form when you are grieving the loss of those so significant as Mom and Craig-for anyone really. Sunday-not the first Sunday, sure not to be the last-I felt utterly, certifiably crazy. Short of the catatonic body positioning, you would have thought I had an absolute psychotic break. If you ever wondered what zero gravity feels like for the body, I had achieved that in mind. Nothingness coursed through me with horrid recognition. I have been there before and could tell what was happening. I could only feel my heartbeat, not my limbs nor my mind. Nothingness. It's as hard to explain as it is to feel. I wanted to bolt out of my skin in all directions; I wanted to chomp my jaw or flick something over and over in repetition as if that would bring relief. Throw something, yell, run into the wall. But, instead, I just laid there staring at the blinds slightly swaying with the wind current that had escaped the seal of my patio door. Swish swash, swish swash. Still nothing. Eyes fixed, heart pumping-nothing. Time passed, still nothing. No thought connection. No feeling. Absolutely nothing coursed through my brain as if I had fallen into a coma on a sidewalk. It would be immensely easier if I could connect an emotion to thought, but I couldn't feel anything. I had no direct idea or memory why I was upset. Just nothing. It was too hard. Too something. A purposeful disconnect from mind and body.
A friend came over; the notion of having this friend see me like that brought me out and into something more functional, the other persona that can interact despite the challenges these losses bring. Just like that, I was out of it. Thank god.
The stick of it is, it's all normal. The sense of feeling crazy, the grief-bursts, the juxtaposition of life and self, the feeling of running away, and the donning a persona that can get you through; it's all a part of grieving, or so says the literature and resources. The unequivocal truth is that we are handling the loss of Mom and Craig exceptionally well and "well" is defined by embracing it all-the sadness, the happiness, the utter disconnect and panic, the silliness -- the everything. It isn't all roses and daises, nor is it all horseflies and cow patties. There's a mix and a balance to grieving, and we're wading through that gracefully.
So, to Jill, who can share it all and not bottle it in even in the face of appearing like a toilet paper throwing, suicidal lunatic--well done sister. I'm a fantasy window-jumping, jaw-chomping, stare at my reflection for minutes without thought, space cadet right there with you (on my off days, of course). On days, I'm a spitfire something fierce and I know you are too. This isn't easy and will not be for quite some time despite the world moving on. Yet, there ARE coping mechanisms to grappling with losing Mom and losing Craig. They may not make sense, they may not be pleasant but they sure beat drugs, not being able to function, self-destructive patterns, or permanently rocking in a corner somewhere, right?
To all those who are grieving Mom and Craig, do as you need to get through another day, and be proud of yourself for making it.
~E
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