2 Jun 2018 – Peace

Peace - Sunset on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)
Sunset on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)

It’s six o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I’ve been awake since five. I don’t sleep well when I fight with people. I’ve never been able to fully compartmentalize.

Peace – Write Your Grief

This year has been hard for me, but it’s been a clean kind of hard. Most people understand grief is a thing. Most people understand the pain surrounding the death. I don’t think most people understand what happens afterward.

For a long time, I lived in a bubble. I ate and I drank and I wrote about my son. He was my focus. He was my everything.

And I hated that life went on. And although necessary, I resented the things that began to intrude.

I hated going back to work because some people were amazing, and some were indifferent. I hated losing weight because most didn’t understand it wasn’t exciting for me; I was losing one more link to him. I hated meeting new people and public gatherings because so many of them were made uncomfortable by my loss. I hated how some of my own friends and family avoided me as if the tragedy could be contagious. These secondary losses all stimulate new grief, and sometimes I am drowning and I don’t know the source of my tears.

None of this is your fault. None of this is your responsibility. You found me when I was broken. You found me when I was trying. I’m still trying.

You are the first person I’ve met since my son’s death who wasn’t already connected in some way. You’re the first person who didn’t immediately understand, but who tried to stay anyway. I put expectations on you. I fully expected you, at first, to just run away. Sometimes I wish you had just run away.

And none of this is fair. In a more perfect world, I would still be living in my bubble. In a perfect world, my son would still be alive. In that perfect world, in those stars aligned, I would likely have never met you. But you’re here, and I’m realizing.

I’m realizing I don’t always want to be alone.
I’m realizing I have wants unrelated to my son.
I’m realizing I’m capable of living again, even heartbroken.
I’m realizing relationships should provide things we both need.

You came into my life and you felt exciting, and for a moment, I was exciting for you.
I’m realizing I’m no longer exciting for you.

That’s the killer about these secondary losses. They sneak up on you.

I had trouble sleeping last night because I hate when we’re fighting. I had trouble sleeping because I’m realizing this fight is only on one side.

I miss already the things I never got to have with you.

I love you.

I release you.

Related Posts:

Topics Page: Grief Positivity
Topics Page: People & Relationships
Resources Page: Resources for Support Persons
Letters to Adrian: Tue, Aug 22, 2017 at 9:50 PM
Letters to Adrian: Tue, Nov 14, 2017, 6:28 PM
Letters to Adrian: Fri, Nov 17, 2017, 8:02 PM
Write Your Grief: Grief
Write Your Grief: I only write to ghosts. You must be one of them.
Write Your Grief: Fairytales

πŸ’™πŸ˜πŸ’™ Posts written as part of the Refuge in Grief writing program. πŸ’™πŸ˜πŸ’™
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