Water Damage

I am tired of being sad.

Of course, “sad” isn’t really the right word. “Sad” fails to adequately describe the feeling of an insufficiently healed wound, broken open again and again. It doesn’t articulate the sense of being unmade and remade into something fundamentally weaker, like a paperback novel after having been dropped into a bathtub. Sure, it’s still a book – but it’s wrecked.

I don’t feel like I’m made out of the same “stuff” that I was four months ago. That person didn’t cry during church hymns, movie previews, work meetings, commutes. That person liked to read and write and plan. She slept well.

And sure, I know… It’s a grieving process. And even though I have days or weeks when I feel like I’ve made it through to the other side, in truth it’s been not even three months since a lot of joy and hopes (not to mention a baby) died. So it is natural, I know, to have bad days, or bad weekends… even bad fortnights.

Still… it gets old.

And if it makes you feel better to say, “snap out of it!” or “go to the gym” or “get therapy,” then go ahead. Probably those are all good suggestions.

This has been a challenging couple of weeks. I think, probably, that if everything else in my life were great, that I’d be able to be stronger about other things. But there’s been trouble with work, and trouble with family, and so on. And it’s late winter in Idaho, which is always so cheery. 😛 And it’s hard to sit there with a woman with a belly and due date that pretty much match what mine was supposed to be, doing the girly coo-about-nurseries-and-maternity-photography thing. Feels like a direct hit on a fresh scab, and now my whole soul is oozing pus.

(Which is different than ‘puss’ – thanks, autocorrect.)

I am not writing this to whine or solicit pity or advice. I just want to feel better, and as time goes on I begin to suspect that I need to write if I’m going to heal. Isn’t it in Macbeth that Shakespeare said to give sorrow words, because unspoken grief will break the heart?


3 thoughts on “Water Damage

  1. Chica, this is all normal – and of COURSE you need to talk to someone – or several someones. There’s a whole school of thought that close friends are better than therapists, because close friends understand what you mean, whereas therapists take a while to learn you. I’m a firm believer in that school of thought – if it weren’t for my friends, I’d have lost it completely after my mom died – strong woman or no. As it was, it was banana peels for a while there, and still are sometimes. In the words of my awesome boss – you just have to feel what you’re going to feel when you feel it – trying to fight it only prolongs the grief”

    I know I’ve personally been slacking on email lately, due to the single finger typing d’ipod – but I know that there’s a lot of shoulders/helping hands for you out here, if you just use them.

    Friends know the song of your life, and sing it back to you when you forget the lyrics :hugs:

  2. Somehow.. I stumbled upon your blog today and I’m just slowly picking up on the things you’ve posted. The way you write about your grief just touches my heart. I lost my son at birth 7 years ago and it’s been the hardest journey. Being proactive in my grief and writing is what has helped me. I haven’t read past this page but I’m so interested to read on and see what else you’ve written. I’m so sorry to hear of your loss.

    “That which we’ve once enjoyed we never lose. All that we deeply love becomes a part of us.”

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