Monday, October 22, 2007

I can't breathe...

In reality, I am breathing, it is just that it all came crashing down on me today. Nothing seems real. Nothing seems right. My father came over today, and all I could do was sit and cry. It was good to have him over, because the loneliness is the hardest part. This is becoming (or always has been) so very difficult. I sometimes think I am not strong enough for this...scratch that...I realize that I am not strong enough for this.

I was hopeful that getting away would be for the good. I do think it was, for the kids. And that was what was important. For me? Too many Mamas and Daddys...too many "whole" families. Too much to handle. Too soon. I get this lightheaded, not breathing enough feeling. I wake up each morning with plans, at least things that I have to do. I spend each day drinking cup after cup of coffee...remembering stupid things, like how many containers of coffee I have gone through since he was last here. This morning I put away the sliver of soap that was the last bar of soap he had used. Silly, but necessary to do. I had removed it from the shower and set it aside. I put it in a baggy along with his hairbrush...which contains the hair he was always asking me to clear off of it. I am glad I didn't. All of these things are stupid...goofy...but I need to do them. I need to preserve each last little tangible bit of his presence... the proof that he really was here for me to love, to take care of us.

I was trying to respond to emails today, and private messages that I have received from a couple of boards I am on, and I couldn't remember who I had written to. So, instead, I spent the time thinking about how his collar used to fit to his neck. And then I went and ran my hands along the inside of the collars of his shirts, attempting to feel him once more. I placed my hands on the bag that contains the urn with his ashes (it is a temporary urn-I have yet to be so I final as to order a permanent one) and attempted (once again) to will him back to me. Our room is a disaster. Two months of piled up "stuff" doesn't bode well for a very small room. We gave up the master bedroom for our son, when his toys soon outnumbered the amount of time he would be young enough to enjoy them. I stopped looking at his pictures at...I avert my gaze when I walk by them. I click on "new post" quickly here, so as not to be confronted with him...with the face I long for.

Rachel often speaks of feeling like life is a yo-yo ( I hope you don't mind me speaking about it Rachel) and how, many times, it feels like the yo is on a down swing. The past few days, or is it weeks now, the yo has been spiraling down. Down to where I didn't think it was possible to go. To the leaden ache in my chest that has me again wondering about hearts and breakage and the possibility of that happening; and to the competing thud in my head, as each minute brings about that realization that he is gone. Again, and again. No relief, no respite. So many recriminations-things I should have made time for. Dinners eaten too late, weekends wasted. And forever the thoughts of that day, of him, of me, our son, our daughter. It is as if things stopped making sense on August 26th, and all of the study, soul searching, and rest cannot make it literate again.


Betts4 said...

Your days sound a lot like mine. Wandering the house and looking, touching, thinking, remembering when he was here. The shaving creme can that I can't throw away and the towel I can't use because it was his favorite.
I have gotten rid of clothing and such, but they were MINE, not his.
Sending Hugs to you.

The girl left behind said...

I hate to say it, but that not breathing and the physical pain...all that is "normal." Horrible and relentless, but normal. I didn't breathe right for months, and even now, I get the shortness of breath sometimes, and that pain in my chest that hurt so bad when I would cry.

I once spent a good 10 minutes examining a box that had held books he lent me before I put the box out in the garage (and the books on the shelf), just in case there was a hair in it for me to preserve. I smelled the box. The works. It was nuts. And I'd do it again today.

Hugs and love to you.

Laurie said...

Nothing about the way you and the other two ladies above are going through this time is nuts. It sounds so normal to me, something I would be doing if this happened to me. This has to be the hardest heartbreak to go through, besides losing a child too. My heart sure hurts for you, not having anything worthy to say that would make any difference and I am so sorry for this. Nothing you do is stupid or goofy, if it helps you to get through. I am praying for you sweetie, and even that sounds so shallow to me, but I am asking the Lord to give you some relief and to help you to breathe. Things as you knew them did stop making sense in August, and your new sense of normal has not set in yet and may not for quite some time. The messy room can wait until you feel like cleaning it up. You just need to breathe and gently take baby steps.
I got my bracelet today, thank you so much Laura, I have it on right now and it is to remind me of the two of you. Have a good nights sleep tonight, you are loved.

Laurie in Ca.

rachd said...

Oh, sweetie, I *ache* for you this evening. The thing I'm discovering about death is that it is so very FINAL. I know without a doubt you will see Leonard again, just as I will see the Monk again. It's the days until we do that are hard.

I was in Han's bathroom yesterday and I began to go through her hair doodles, looking at the baby-fine blonde strands, remembering the torture that was fixing her hair. My poor, tender-headed little Monkey.

I have decided there is no "normal" when it comes to grief and finding our way through. As I've said before, sometimes it's a minute-by-minute or even second-by-second process of just remembering to breathe, and then, to move. From what I can tell, you are doing just that.

And, I certainly don't mind you using my yo-yo, because, ultimately, it is one of the best analogies I could come up with. If you come up with a better one, let me know.

Gina said...

My friend, I just don't have the words to comfort you. I'm not sure anyone has words that can comfort you right now. I am so sorry for that.


Angie said...

You are strong enough. Look at what you did this weekend. I know it was for the kids, but YOU DID IT. You are strong enough, and the times when you can't be, there is no shame in letting others be strong for you. Hugs to you.

camielmom said...

My friend. You are remarkably strong. I think of you and pray for you daily. You are being such a wonderful mom to those beautiful children.

Haylee said...

Hi Laura:

I am glad your weekend had a few positive points but, when all is said & done and despite all the profound words/phrases that can be used to describe what you're going through, I think the simple phrase "IT STINKS" sums it up, doesn't it?

Another one "IT's NOT BLOODY FAIR!"

Keep my memory with you,
For memories never die;
I will be there with you,
When you look across the sky.

I will be there in the clouds,
In the birds that fill the air;
In the beauty of a fragrant rose, You will find my memory there.

You'll feel me in the tenderness, Of a tiny baby's touch;
You will hear me if you listen,
In the twilight's gentle hush.

When your heart is heavy,
And you feel that you're alone; Just reach down deep inside of you For your heart is now my home.

I will always be with you,
I will never go away;
For I will live on in your heart, Forever and a day.

~ author unknown


Sending you peace and blessings this day.

Jess T said...


I'm sorry. You are strong enough! You can get through this.

I'm thinking of you and sending you my strength to help you when you need it!


The Stevens Family said...

Your strength will surprise you. Hugs to you and your kids!

Shari said...

My heart aches for you and your pain and for the others who also are going through this pain. Your yo-yo or rollercoaster that keeps going downhill....I hope, that in time, it will find a few bumps in its path to have you feeling less pain. Life is a series of bumps... ups and downs. We all have our bumps. It doesn't make your bump any less painful than others. I know you are really trying hard to be strong for your kids and they do need you. Help each other. Continue with your counseling.

I got your bracelet yesterday and left it on all night and all day today. Every time I notice it on my wrist, I think of you and hope you feel a little bit of support coming your way. Take care, take all the time you need to heal. It's only two months. It's still new and raw.

God bless.

Jessica said...

Reading this has made it difficult for *me* to breathe. Your pain is so real and so palpable. I wish I could take it away for you, even if just for a few hours.
You are loved.

rbnyc said...

I know you feel and believe you are not strong enough and your feelings are real and important. But your writing, your love for your kids, your love for him that goes on, the coffee, the collars, all of it--it is all witness to your unfathomable strength. And so are we.

We love you. Keep on.


Sharpie said...

You are strong. You ARE strong. You are STRONG. Keep telling yourself - hear him telling you...because he does.

I too am not breathing with you, for you. I can not fathom your pain or despair. I can not imagine your loss. But know that we are all HERE with you, for you, beside you. Lean on us - we can help stand tall when you don't feel like you can.

Once again, when I read your words I am ashamed for not being the wife I should be to the husband who is here. Because I know in my heart - I would be where you are only worse - filled with regret. You have changed me. Forever. And I am eternally grateful.

Much Love!!!!