An Apology

I need to chew more slowly.

I’m beginning to learn that grief is a meal that needs to be eating one bite at a time.

We’re trained to think that the faster we gulp it all down, the sooner it will be over. But I’ve noticed that once I clean my plate, a whole new helping is dished on. And so it goes – day after day. I’ve come to the realization that I must not gulp the pain down. It’s going to last a lifetime whether I try to swallow the entire pie or only take manageable bites. Grief is not a set thing with a predictable beginning and an end – but rather a new state of being. It’s a part of who I am now and will be for the rest of my life whether I asked for it or not. It cannot be ignored or bravely trudged through until it’s over. It must be managed and expected within each day.

But I think my problem is that I want to eat the entire pie instead of one piece at a time. Needless to say, I can’t possibly do it so I’m manufacturing my own problems. My struggle is not only in the initial grief, but in the effort to recover as well.

Someone once said that when your child dies, it’s just the beginning of the things you lose. I’m glad someone said that. It makes me feel less alone to know that someone else experienced that as well. But that thought gets me thinking about all the things I have lost. See, instead of just taking one piece of the pie – Nick is not physically present now – I swallow the whole thing; Nick won’t go to high school, Nick won’t get married, Nick won’t be a father, Nick won’t play with his brother in the front yard, Nick won’t be a pal for Cody, Nick won’t play silly games with Selah. Even within my efforts toward recovery and the realization that the future will arrive whether I’m ready or not – I also find myself eating the whole pie. People talk of losing their child 10, 20, 30 years ago. The thought of so much time passing is completely overwhelming. Each day seems like a month – how I can manage ten years?

So, I try to take one piece – make it through today. But no one can eat even a single piece in one bite. But again I still try and it gets stuck in my throat and I gag on it. I hyperventilate and become anxious about how I will manage a whole day’s events. What shall I do this morning, afternoon, or evening all thought about at once overcomes my senses and brings me to the state of doing nothing at all.
So, I try to take one moment – one bite – at a time. I open my eyes in the morning and breathe as deep as I can; watch my own chest rise and fall. Then I sit up slowly and look out the window and wait….wait for the images to come. I usually try to grasp them tightly and squeeze every ounce of juice out of them. The tighter I hold them, hoping they won’t slip away, the more they ooze through my fingers. But if I just sit and take them as they come – one bite at a time - the more I have the heart to endure the next one. I let each memory brush my cheek, braid through my fingers, wrap around my waist, rest gently on my shoulders and then whisk away as quickly as they came – that’s taking one bite at a time. Then I move to what’s expected – wash, dress and feed the kids – and before I know it half the morning is gone. That’s bite number two.

Then I find a friend to talk with or take a walk or some other short task to use up the rest of the morning. Then it’s time for lunch and putting Selah to bed. This is my favorite time of the day. I just read the bible, do my devotions and recover from the morning’s onslaught. When she’s awake, it’s barely an hour before Cody’s home with more activity; snack time, homework, conversation. And so the day goes. Bit by bit, bite by bite.

I write all this as a way of apologizing to those of you who have seen me on the days I try to swallow a whole pie. It’s not pretty. I gag, I sob, I ask “why” a lot. The symptoms of gluttony are quite obvious. And I begin to feel bad when I recover because my pain was due to my own impatience regarding recovery time. So, please, forgive me if you see me on one of those days. Please, have more patience with me than I have with myself. Please, know that this will never be over, but I will get better at dealing with it as the days go by. I’ll never be “over” my grief, I’ll never forget Nick, I’ll never “get back to normal”, but I will learn how to chew more slowly!

Thank you for your time and patience.
Andi