Thursday, September 16, 2010

On to the second stage...

I woke up this morning genuinely believing that I would be ok. That the feeling that I had the day before yesterday would return...you know, minor frustration about a job thing, cautious anticipation about exactly 3 new friendships, joy and relief of my sister's triumph and warmth care and concern for my niece and brother whom I love more than anything, sadness for the end of summer and contentment at my last long Saturday of volleyball. It was a good way to feel, not overly happy but content.



I was naive perhaps-or more likely-determinedly hopeful and willful, that the sheer familiarity of losing one of my best friends in an unexpected manner would cause the process to be easier and quicker. Five years ago when Molly died I was sad in waves, I knew the privacy of sobs and the comfort of friends in the speechless moments, when the pain was a knot in my stomach and the water trickled but more often dried up completely. People turned to me, because they knew of our closeness, they turned to me for comfort and that role made it easier to ease into my own healing. I could forget for awhile while someone else asked why. I knew. I hurt and I knew and I was confidant to see her again and I was thankful that our last words were loving and complete.



This time is different. Harder. Because I live in a community more defined and more enmeshed in the loss of a good man, and because we live in a world where everything happens faster and more digitally, I find myself feeling rushed. As much as I want to scoff at the 5 stages of grief, I was perfectly content to live in denial for a few more days. But here I am exposed to everyone else's sadness, everyone else's experiences and love. And I just want to feel my own right now. And I feel selfish and shameful. I can literally hear him talking in my head right now, saying those ridiculously comforting and goofy things he would always say when I was sad, or struggling. And I want to continue to hear that. But it's really hard to hear him when it seems like everyone else is shouting.

2 comments:

Sholeh said...

*hug* Do it your way, in your time. You are not required to grieve in the same way. None of us know how everyone else is feeling, we are only inside our own heads.

I love you.

Kari Carlson said...

yeah... i had a hard time being alone most of last week and then when i finally was, it was like my own experience came to the surface. and that was kind of nice.