SORROW SHARED
I have written several things over the last few months and
haven’t shared them. I haven’t wanted to
burden others.
The problem with not sharing is this; thoughts get distorted
and I don’t realize it. I start spinning
down the cavern of grief and suddenly recognize, I am in trouble. I can’t carry
this alone and I was never meant to.
The last 4 days have been brutal. Grief has hit hard, along
with the blues. I am in a danger zone that others won’t understand until they join
this journey. I don’t want that for
anyone.
My thoughts are not my own. They have been taken over by the
mother inside of me, the one that has been brought to her knees, seeking relief
and nothing seems to help. Reading books
on grief, knowing I am not alone, helps for a time. I joined a FB page of
others that have lost family members to drugs.
At first it was a relief to talk to mothers/fathers that understood; it
soon turned into a deep well of sadness, that if I stay there, will drown me. Protecting my mental energy is necessary. I feel selfish.
I finally spoke my thoughts out loud to family. Thoughts left unspoken, grow, twist, take
over and if heeded, more grief waits for those around me. There’s an unspoken
promise that this pain will end. THIS is the lie you have to recognize; this isn't a solution. Others are suffering right along side of me. Watching my kids suffer is brutal.
These are the words I
said out loud, “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
I want my son. I want his hug, his smile, his laugh, his brilliant
blue eyes to look into mine. I even miss him flipping people off. He excelled at that. I want to
hear his voice saying, “Mama, get out of the car and give me a real hug!” I want to make him a homemade KFC potato bowl.
The last time I made them and had him
over, he was in
withdrawal and his conversations were all over the place. He ate very little and left quickly when his
buddy showed up to get him. If there is food in heaven, this is what he is
eating.
I thought I knew heartache during that time. The runaway train was heading for our family
and nothing we did stopped it.
I know it hurts my
family to hear these words. Are they not
enough? Family being enough has nothing to do with
it. I just want this cavern of pain, that is bottomless, to stop.
It has been 427 days today.
How is it possible to live without my son for that long? Moving is all I can do. It is taking every bit of strength I have.
In the book called “Finding Meaning, the Sixth Stage of Grief,”
by David Kessler, he writes:
“We need a sense of community when we are in mourning. We
were not meant to be islands of grief. The reality is, we heal as a tribe.
There is no greater gift you give someone in grief than to ask them about their
loved one, then truly listen. When we see our sorrow in the eyes of another, we
know our grief has meaning. We get a glimpse, maybe for the first time since
the loss, that we will survive, and a future is possible.”
I am choosing to lean on my tribe. I know from experience, this pain will lessen
again, for a time. My emotions will freeze and I will welcome it; embrace the temporary
escape.
The words, “we heal as a tribe” ring true. I needed that
support so much in the beginning stages of this journey I didn’t choose. I need it now, more than ever. My joy in life comes from being the caretaker and
giver; being on the receiving end is humbling. To those in my tribe that give so much to me, you know who you are; thank you will never be enough.
Stacey Hedrick, Mother of Parker James Kelly
02/20/1996-11/11/2018
#PJKALLDAY
#DONTSTOPBELIEVING
