Lately the darkness has set in, in the form of anger, irritation, lack of motivation, and paralyzing fear. Part of me wonders how much is grief, how much is post-partum depression, how much is my regular personality and the anniversaries of all my babies combining in one awful 3-month period, and so forth. Tonight a woman in our grief group said how she thanks God that she hasn’t had much anger after her loss in late November, and how she wants her life to be a testimony to others who can see that with God, it is possible to grieve without anger and bitterness. Maybe I misunderstood her, but that’s how I interpreted what she said. She has only felt like punching someone in the face once or twice. As I sat there bitterly listening to her, I told myself that my anger is OK, too, and it doesn’t mean that my grief journey is any less of a testimony of God’s goodness and grace than hers, just different. She may not experience anger as much, but she also hasn’t been through the death of 3 children including 1 shocking death at full term, 2 nephews, an uncertain NICU hospitalization with our living daughter, a husband’s debilitating journey with back pain, and various other complicating factors, all within 5 years.
Today was a pretty hard day. I don’t have photo proof, but let’s just say I had a total breakdown in the Walmart parking lot because my cart filled with $200 in groceries (the first time I’ve been grocery shopping by myself since Hannah died) rolled across the parking lot and dumped out all the contents, breaking several things and sending several things down into the ravine. Thankfully, three strangers named Christina (from Silver Lake), Simba (from Kenya), and a kind older man whose name I didn’t get but who gave me a big hug, all stopped to help me retrieve my items while I had the most intense cry-fest since December 11 when I found out Hannah would not live. They probably thought I was crazy, but they helped me anyway. The lady asked me why I was crying so hard and reassured me that everything would be OK, so I told her this was the first time I had gone grocery shopping by myself since my baby died in December, and how I even failed to do such a simple task as get the groceries into the car without a fiasco.
As she walked my cart back up the hill (who designs a store with a sloping parking lot down into a ravine, anyway?!) to the car, she asked how old my baby was, so I told her 3 days old. Bless her heart, I knew she was just trying to help me, but she said, “Oh honey. You’ll be able to have another one. You’re young. Everything will be OK.” Rather than punch her in the face like I wanted to do, I just said, “You might be right” and kept walking. Thankfully we were almost to my car and she gave me a hug and I thanked her, rather than punching her in the face. I am super thankful these people stopped to help me – don’t get me wrong – but I was definitely hurt further by what she said in her attempts to help me emotionally. Ironically, it was the two men who were most helpful emotionally, when normally I consider women to be more helpful to me in “talking things out.” They just helped with the tangible things they could help with, and they kept their mouths shut, and the kind older man gave me a hug without saying anything that I recall. The woman even came back to the car after she had said goodbye, and knocked on my window, and wanted me to know that the man she was with was named Simba, and he was from Kenya. I thanked her again and drove off, bawling. I’m thankful no one robbed my car (which was running with my purse in it and two doors wide open) for the 15 minutes it took to gather up the cart.
I cried all the way home and for about 20 minutes after I got home, and I cried some more at the grief group as I told the story, but I’m sure some day in the DISTANT future I will tell this story and laugh about it. Today I received confirmation that there are really nice, well-meaning people out there, some of whom should just risk giving a hug to a strange woman crying in the middle of the Walmart parking lot instead of open their mouths. I also learned that I should never leave my house again. Ever. Not really, but I feel very inadequate to care for the daily tasks of life as of yet. I’ve been trying to remember to pick up my prescriptions for 3 days. I have to write reminders in my phone to take my medicine and call a friend back. I lie in bed all day on the weekends while Adelaide plays on the iPad while Nathan’s at work all day. I forget to brush my teeth for 2 or 3 days at a time. Today the only thing I hate was pizza and chocolate. In my mind I know that proper nutrition would help my mental capacity, but when it comes down to it I just don’t care. I’m not taking very good care of myself or my child or my husband, or my friendships, or my marriage, or my spiritual life. I’m just doing well to get out of bed and get a shower each day. People like my doctor get worried about me when I admit this lack of functioning, but the more I hear about people’s grief journeys, the more I am starting to think that I might actually be experiencing the “grief norm,” and the lady in my group who experiences no anger and functions well in her daily job might be the exception. Or maybe I’m experiencing “normal” things for the amount of trauma I’ve been through in the past 5 years and all the “complicated grief” that has ensued. Either way, despite whether I’m normal or not, I’m still here and decided to type this out. And now I’m going to stop comparing myself, stop worrying about what others think of this post, trust it to God’s hands, and go to sleep with my best friends, Nathan and Xanax. Thank you to those of you who read every word on this journey, and thank you to those of you who love me unconditionally and with no pretense. You are a gift in my life.
Transparent Graces 