Thursday, December 12, 2013

learning curves

in the wake of a wake. and a funeral.  big wakes, fishing boat wakes, the kind that send little boats all akimbo, all awash in worry and plunge.

at the wake you see that there are many many (all) who know exactly what it is you are feeling, and while you laugh and smile because there is literally no sustainable way to express grief at all times, the body has the pressure-relieving chuckle, or real social smile to keep you alive. . . and the community of humanity which has loss as one of its characteristics is surprising in its lack of discrimination.
and then you are at the funeral, and remember bits and pieces and incredulity at what is going on and then, realizations and sinking ins and then, back out again to the distant shore.  i remember so little of what went on there. and more greetings and sadnesses and recognitions and remembrances and so much.  while i had been dreading and gearing up for and staking my claim on survival, it went fast and now is over. and what is left is the un-nameable ...
and i'm having struggles with my children, and i am having trouble cooking dinners, and blankness is pervasive and from afar, i am confused and overwhelmed by it all. i am waiting to regain my footing, trying and failing to have patience with myself, with hubsJ who is also grieving, my kids who are also greiving whilst whipping into a 'get stuff' frenzy which will go wildly different this time around, but only for me.. packages bought, delivered... whatever. santa santa shithead.
i thought i wouldn't have anger because of my belief in the way things are.  but that is a crock. for me, and for now.  i am angry at the world for rolling on and on. for the demands of my days, for the inability to lie down on the floor in the closet and stay there. for having to get dressed, for having to feed other people, to be kind to them.  for wanting something totally different. so totally different.
and i'm mad by how humiliated i feel by my ignorance of what is something that every person will go through, this loss. this death. the suddenness of change. something so large? that i thought i recognized? what an ass. a complete ass and fool. i am in awestruck mode, and angry, and full of spit and vinegar, as my dad would say.  i am not angry at god, or at my dad.  they get a pass.


MotherOfGooses said...

Astonishingly beautiful! wow. I love that image of a wake being like adrift in the wake of a very large ship.

Jen said...

You have been on my mind. I applaud your willingness to admit that HubsJ and the kidlets are also grieving. If it were me in your situation, I think I would want all the grief to myself. Try, try, try to find a hint of magic in the season. Santa is a shithead but he may give you a twinkle or sparkle that will brighten your day for minute. Sending lots of love to you. Stay strong.

Forever Engaged said...

You describe grief as a mother so beautifully and accurately. It is difficult to understand why the world goes on. Why there are people laughing and being happy. Why there are people shopping and working and playing while your world feels like it is falling apart. Lean on anyone who will listen in this time. I'm so sorry for your loss... So so sorry.

Mama Mama Quite Contrary said...

Oh gosh, it is such a struggle and you have every right to want the world to stop. My friend who lost her husband when her twins were 9 months old told me recently that people reference the stages of grief as if it is a linear experience that ends after a certain period of time. It does not. Grief, anger, disbelief... they all overlap and will probably come and go for a very long time.

Be kind to yourself. Your dad's spirit is with you and when you start to look for it, you'll see it the way you can't miss a cardinal in winter. <3