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the physicality of grief.


i can relate to those people that have phantom limb pain following amputation.  when elly died it felt as if a limb had been cut from me.  i kept staring at my arm wondering why she wasn't there.  i had carried the child for nine months and then held her almost continually for five weeks... other mama's out there know, in the newborn phase, you don't go more than a couple hours without holding your little one.

the hours ticked by... one hour without holding her, two hours without having her, three hours... until a brutal 24 hours had ticked by.  i remember being desperate to hold anything, a baby doll, a stuffed animal.  anything to fill the void, my body felt empty, deprived of the warmth and love of my beloved child.
when we started taking addy and lane out again i remarked to jim that it was like we were forgetting something.  i would start to say "don't forget the baby carrier" and cut myself short before the words even started tumbling out of my mouth... it was the whisper of a thought cut short.



when jim died, it was even worse.  i am still carrying the physical effects.  july will mark six years since we met.  six years of being inseparable.  our entire marriage consisted of seven nights apart, four of those were when he traveled for his previous job.  the day before he died, we were sitting out in the garage, me on his lap and i was rubbing his thumb with mine.

12 hours later he was gone.

my hands are lost, clumsy in their motions without jim's head to rub or hand to hold
my lips are confused, wondering where their counterparts are
my eyes are sad and wandering, looking for their match in his green

my entire physical being is thrown into shock.  sad and pathetic without it's constant, it's homing beacon, guiding it in its motions
it is as if my sun is gone, and i am left still orbiting, thrown out into a dark and distant space, without any light to guide my way.


maybe you will always be, just a little out of reach




yesterday i found a souvenir from our honeymoon and i cried so hard i was hyperventilating.  i was home alone, my two children in the room next to me and my chest hurt me so bad i would have thought i had gotten kicked.  the air was knocked out of me.  i had to get on the phone with someone right then, the pain too great to bear alone.  all i could say was "it hurts, it hurts so badly"

the intertwining of our neurological, physical, and spiritual aspects is so apparent during grief.  everything is so separated in our culture, even down to "classes"

math, science, psychology.  they are all taught separately, as if they had nothing to do with each other or they didn't impact each other.  i will tell you in this- there is no separation.  grief has taught me the constraints of our knowledge are a lot tighter than we believe them to be.

there are no explanations, no reasoning, no making it better

"it hurts. it hurts so badly"

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treat it.

to everyone who has never been touched by suicide,

i get it.  i used to be like you too.  here are the most common views of suicide i either heard or personally held growing up:

that person is selfish
that person is crazy
that person is a coward
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they were depressed for a long time and finally went through with it
there are always warning signs, so people know it's coming
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THAT IT WOULDN'T AFFECT ME


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dreams.

to my love,

i hope you know how much i miss you.  the words, of course, fall short.  but there they are, just the same.  i.miss.you.  i told addy that you and elly can live in our hearts forever, but this of course is a lie.  death is permanent and there is no living to be done once the breathe leaves our bodies.  you are not living on in our hearts, minds, or souls.  there is no living to yet be done for you.  instead we are left with our memories which time will eventually dull.  numbing ourselves to the very sense of you.  it is that way for me with my mom, my memories of her are stunted and few and we had eight years together.

does it bother you to know the only real remembrance your children will have of you is seen through my eyes and my hearts?  the sharp reality of their dad is forever lost to them.

people are trying to instill hope in me in regards to my future.  i know they mean well but it is coming off condescending.  no one but my own being knows my pain.  i am not here…
Dear Cavs,

Our playoff season started the day my five week old daughter, Elly, passed away, twelve days later my husband also died suddenly.
Your road to the finals, so fraught with emotion was also the start of a very difficult, seemingly impossible journey for me.

I started watching at game five... when we were down 3-1, I thought for sure that we would lose that game- when we won, all of a sudden- I cared.  When so many lights had gone out for me there was all of a sudden very small glimmer of hope and dare I say satisfaction possibly ahead.

It would have seemed from the circumstances that I shouldn't care whether we won or lost, so many things in my life didn't hold their meaning anymore- but I did.  I couldn't help it.  The enthusiasm was infectious.  These games gave  me hope.

I watched as you won game five and game six and I'll never forget seeing Kyrie on the bench after six holding up his seven fingers.... Here we go.

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