Can I take a (brief) hiatus from writing the history of me?
Wait, this is my blog. My story. My space. I can do whatever I want. I have felt like I have some sort of strange attachment to only publishing my story, that the rest of my writing has fallen out. I haven’t been writing. That’s my fault.
There is no reason for that.
Rory has been gone for five months.
I keep having these feelings that are amorphous and hard to describe. The ones that send me back into a tailspin of grief, even though most of the time, I’m fine.
I mean, what is fine? Fine always seems to be “not currently in crisis.”
I look over at his space, and I see him. I see him all around me. I have reminders of him everywhere. I can’t open my eyes without seeing him, or his swirls, or something I have set up to remind me that he was here.
Everything reminds me that he is gone.
There are words that just trigger instant grief. “My child died.” “We are the parents whose child died.” “Rory is dead.” Somehow the words hold so much power – as though they mean more than just living through the actual event. They hold so much pain.
I don’t have flashbacks anymore. I don’t get that tight, anxious feeling in my chest when I remember the day from my perspective. But when I try to walk through it from any other angle – when I imagine what it was like for my mother and father in law, or my husband, or my kids… I become undone again. When I put myself in the place of another. I remember flying in the helicopter, but when I put myself in Brock’s place, driving to the hospital as fast as possible… When I try to imagine what it was like as my mother to get that phone call… When I play out the night of my children, staying with their grandparents while their mom and dad were at the hospital with their dying brother…
When I look at the situation through the eyes of the doctors and nurses – kind, and loving and already filled with the knowledge that without a true miracle, our baby was gone…
I don’t really know what the point of this is. Just some thoughts and feelings that need to be put down. Journalling, as I am continually reminded to do, through my journey.
Do you think it’s a coincidence that both of those words start exactly the same way?
I don’t even have any wise or quippy way to end this post, so I’m just going to stop typing now.
Thanks for being here. I’ll be back to the history of me shortly.