First of all I want to start with a disclaimer that this post is about me. It is not about begrudging anyone else their joy and happiness or resenting them in any way. It is about me and my grief and the ways that it sometimes sneaks up on me. I am also not saying my situation is in any way better or worse.
Here's the deal...this morning I read this blog post. Being surprised by joy is an amazing thing. I really admire the woman that MckMama is and I always enjoy reading her blog, but sometimes its hard not to be a little jealous. I had that surprise of joy with Kenna. We were told she had a cord defect. We had a follow up ultrasound. They told us she didn't have a cord defect. We thought the coast was clear. Less than one week later that joy was absolutely crushed. A month after that we found out that she did have a cord defect. We could have had 100 ultrasounds and they could have all said something different based on what part of the cord they measured.
So it all comes back to the age old question of why me? Most days I can go through my day without thinking about that question, simply accepting the reality of the situation and moving forward with life. I can push it off to the cliches that I hate saying and I don't believe anyway.
So, I'll ask it again...why me? I'd love to say it has given me a great sense of purpose or a new sensitivity for others in my situation (or others like it), but guess what...it hasn't. With the exception of one person (you know who you are)...I can't talk about this with or offer comfort to others who have been through it. We visited our former church over the weekend and there is a mom there whose 20 year old son just died. I should know what to say to her, right? I should be able to offer her a comfort and an understanding that others who have not lost a child can't, right? WRONG!
I didn't know what to say to her because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing to say. There is nothing that will make it better. She is in for (quite possibly) the longest and most painful journey of her life and there is nothing to make it better. She's still crying through church and clinging to her husband's hand. I've been there...yet I said nothing. Because I know how painful it is...I have nothing to say. There is hope...but its a long way away and she and I both know it. I get so frustrated and angry with myself for not being able to offer at least some measure of comfort.
I had a brief conversation about Kenna at a birthday party the other day and I mentioned to a friend that other people move on and forget. She assures me that they haven't forgotten. Maybe not, but they have moved on. They are not tortured, at times, by her memory. I noticed this weekend that my mom moved her dragonfly wings. I don't know why she did or where they are, but I noticed they weren't where I looked for them. She might not remember moving them and I'm sure that she knows exactly where they are. They aren't featured anymore though...she has moved them away and another decoration is in their place on the mantle. The way that other people get to move on. I am not afforded such a luxury.
So what do I want? Simply put, I want what I cannot have. I understand (and I really do) that other people can not live in my past indefinitely. I understand that I also cannot live in the past indefinitely. I understand that in a few days the emotions I am feeling right now will have simmered back under the surface waiting for some unsuspecting moment I am caught of gaurd in my grief.
I will continue putting one foot in front of the other and pretend to forget that one of my closest friends has a little girl that will be two in just over a month. I will pretend to forget about Kenna when I hear her learning new words and see her beautiful smile. I will pretend it isn't painful because I value that friendship and ultimately, I love that little girl to pieces. In some ways she is especially precious to me.
sometimes it is hard not to be really angry.