Living with grief over the years is like some sort of strange arranged marriage. Imagine already having the love of your life and being told in no uncertain terms, that no, your love has to go, underground, and instead you will spend the rest of your life with this unwanted ghoul.
At first, quite understandably, you despise Grief. You hate everything it represents- losing your love, losing your dream of a happy life, pain that presses on your lungs relentlessly, even flashbacks of your love bleeding on the ground. Grief brings all of this and shoves it in your face regardless of the time or company. What is there to like about such an inconsiderate partner?
So then, you go on the run every time Grief comes knocking. You hide under the bed. You go shopping. You take the meds that help you to sleep so your dreams are not filled with sirens, flashing lights, uniforms, blood, and twisted bones. Better to have no dreams than those nightmares.
Nothing works for very long. Let's face it, Grief is a fucking stalker. Eventually, you invite Grief in and offer a chair, regard each other, albeit reluctantly, and get on with your relationship. Turns out, facing Grief head on is the best way to conduct the sorry business of losing your child. You get busy talking about it and learn who loves you enough to bear the discomfort of hearing about it, over and over again. You see, for some of us, the nightmare never ends. I get that the script gets old; but I'd rather witness it than live it, I promise you that.
Progress comes slowly and is probably less easily recognized by those who don't have children or who have never lost one. But it is there. Make no mistake; it is there.
You finally stop listening for Grief's knock on the door. The two of you are now so enmeshed, that such formalities are no longer needed.
That's why it feels like such a betrayal when Grief comes barging in when you are sick or stressed or doing almost okay. You stand there, your heart beating out of your chest, realizing your loss as if it were the moment you were told she was dead on the road. That pain of never seeing your child again rips through your body from your scalp that is now shrinking on your head to your feet, that no longer seem willing to hold you up. You sit, folding in on yourself, wherever you are, a chair, the floor, your bed...and you look over at Grief. I thought we were friends! How could you do this to me?
Grief stands firm, no apologies. You look again, and suddenly, there is recognition. "Oh, it's you. I know you." You've seen this behavior before. It is really no surprise.
There is an unwilling sort of commitment; you have to live with Grief until the day you die. But friends you are not.
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