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Time got away from me last night, and I didn't actually turn the light off until almost 11pm. When I did finally start to settle down I was quickly overwhelmed with grief. It was the second time in three or four days that I've broken down into wracking tears at bedtime, overwhelmed by grief and loneliness and a screaming protest of It's not fair!
There was nothing I could do to comfort myself. Everything I tried only made me feel worse. I felt utterly alone and hopeless.
Finally my daughter appeared in my doorway. "Mom, are you okay?"
I couldn't even answer, I could only cry.
She came into the room and lay down next to me on the bed, saying quietly and sweetly, "It's okay, Mom. . ."
It wasn't okay. That was the problem. I wasn't okay. But having her there helped. I've always felt free to cry in front of her, so she isn't afraid of my tears. Every so often she would repeat, "It's okay, Mom." After a while I asked her if she would sit up, and I held her tightly. "It's so unfair," I finally managed to choke out. "I miss him so much. I want to make him come back by sheer force of wanting."
"I understand. I felt that way about [her pets who have died]."
I was so upset in grief that I almost laughed bitterly at the comparison between my beloved and her pets, but managed to retain enough sanity and control to honor her words instead.
"You need to rest," she finally told me, with all the wisdom of her eleven years. "That will help."
When I had acknowledged that she was right and had calmed down, she started back to her room. I said, "I'm sorry I disturbed you with my crying."
"I didn't hear anything," she replied.
"Then why did you come in?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt something was wrong."
I cried for a little while longer after she left, and eventually settled down with the help of some spiritual allies -- but my grief is still close to the surface today.
It's not fair.
And there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it.
And I hurt so very much.
There was nothing I could do to comfort myself. Everything I tried only made me feel worse. I felt utterly alone and hopeless.
Finally my daughter appeared in my doorway. "Mom, are you okay?"
I couldn't even answer, I could only cry.
She came into the room and lay down next to me on the bed, saying quietly and sweetly, "It's okay, Mom. . ."
It wasn't okay. That was the problem. I wasn't okay. But having her there helped. I've always felt free to cry in front of her, so she isn't afraid of my tears. Every so often she would repeat, "It's okay, Mom." After a while I asked her if she would sit up, and I held her tightly. "It's so unfair," I finally managed to choke out. "I miss him so much. I want to make him come back by sheer force of wanting."
"I understand. I felt that way about [her pets who have died]."
I was so upset in grief that I almost laughed bitterly at the comparison between my beloved and her pets, but managed to retain enough sanity and control to honor her words instead.
"You need to rest," she finally told me, with all the wisdom of her eleven years. "That will help."
When I had acknowledged that she was right and had calmed down, she started back to her room. I said, "I'm sorry I disturbed you with my crying."
"I didn't hear anything," she replied.
"Then why did you come in?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt something was wrong."
I cried for a little while longer after she left, and eventually settled down with the help of some spiritual allies -- but my grief is still close to the surface today.
It's not fair.
And there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it.
And I hurt so very much.
