Back under the bus

A good friend of mine was run over by a bus several years ago. She was about 7 and a half months pregnant at the time. She has some hearing loss, various aches and pains, and other physical scars from the accident.

I admit, I never thought about the emotional scars she has until I lost my daughter. This friend has been there for me in ways I never imagined anyone would. She seems to know just the right thing to say when I call, unable to speak because I'm crying my eyes out. This is because she's been there, experienced loss and trauma.

I am, I believe, on a relatively even keel most of the time these days. There are obvious things that can upset me--seeing a picture of my daughter, seeing a little girl who resembles her but is here while my daughter is not--but for the most part, I'm able to steel myself against these assults.

Every now and then, something happens that I'm not expecting and can't brace myself against. Yesterday was such a day. I was working, and got a phone call that upset me. I just couldn't distract myself and get back to work. I called my friend, and several others, and finally the first friend called back. And of course said the right things.

I told her I wasn't sure why I was upset. I don't avoid my feelings, it's just easier to at least be able to pull them out and examine them at a semi-convenient time, hopefully when I'm alone or with someone I trust. She said I'd been going along with my day when suddenly this was thrown at me. In her words, I was "back under the bus."

I've learned from her that gradually the assaults on my senses and defenses--flashbacks, sudden breakdowns, wanting to scream--will decrease. And they have already, I feel much differently than I did a year ago. But every now and then, something comes at me that I'm not ready for and don't know how to handle.

My friend has told me a few times that every now and then, someone or something will remind her of the accident and suddenly, she is back under that bus. I understand that feeling. Sometimes it's more like a train--I wait for it to end but it just keeps coming and coming and I can't make it stop or get out from under it.

Distraction. Sounds like a bad thing, but really it's not. Yes, I do experience my emotions and go with them at times. I don't believe I'm supposed to get lost in despair though, and that's where distraction comes in. I talk to a friend, play with the baby, go for a walk, clean, just do something to get my mind moving. So far, it's helped.

I hope someday to get to a point where nothing puts me back under the bus. I doubt that will ever happen. Knowing that the occasions will at least become fewer and farther between does at least give me something to look forward to.

Statute of Limitations

A few weeks ago, I found myself wishing that I, like my husband, had put my fist through a door the day our daughter died. I also wished that at her memorial, I had broken down crying, screaming, completely out of control with all the emotions I felt. Recently, I've realized that I wish I'd done these things then because I feel I can't do them now. Or ever.

I had lunch with a friend I've had for over 25 years. I described this feeling to her, and she told me that today, or 10 years from now, if I feel like putting my fist through the wall in anger or despair over losing my daughter, it's fine. There is no statute of limitations on grief, she told me.

This is absolutely true. It doesn't run out, it doesn't go in a particular order or within a set amount of time through the five stages described by Kubler-Ross.

Later that day, I talked to another friend, told her about the statute of limitations. By then, I'd had time to think about it, and told this friend that while I understand I will always grieve, I know there are times when I can't show it. At work, I have to work. I could openly grieve and work and sometimes, for a while, it would probably be fine. Eventually I'd stop getting my work done and probably get fired.

This is Real Life (because losing a child isn't?). In Real Life, I have to work, earn money, support my family, stay in touch with the now. According to the book The Survivors Club, being able to sort of turn off your sorrow and despair are what help you get through.

That makes sense. If I had put my fist through the wall, as my husband did, or disassociated as my grandmother (who was visiting at the time) did, who would have called emergency services? Who would have called two women to come help with the baby? Who would have planned the memorial?

People experience shock in different ways. My shock made me oddly quiet. I am not a quiet person. I am outspoken, assertive (aggressive at times), bold, and brave. But shock made me so quiet, so still I nearly passed out. If I'd been angry, yelling, crying, screaming, I don't think I would have made it through those days. I would have run out of energy.

So now, maybe it's my time to grieve in ways others already have. My remaining child is 16 months old. I weaned her around her birthday, so now I can cry whenever I want. But not whenever--if I cry around her, she touches my face, seeming to be puzzled by my tears. This is a reminder again, that while there's no time limit on grief, there are some limits. I have to stay in the present, keep moving forward while taking the time to grieve and to remember. This is what keeps me alive and more than just surviving.

Feng Shui

When we first moved to this house in November, we had the top of the bed against one wall, between two windows. I ended up getting hit by light from another window, and from the bathroom (which has no door) so I had my husband move the bed to another wall. This put us right beside the door that goes out into the hallway.

The bed stayed there for months. The past week or so, every time I got into bed, I think to myself that something isn't right. I thought maybe the pillow needed to be replaced, or the sheets, or maybe we need to paint the room.

Two nights ago, the dam finally burst. I went to bed (my husband was studying) only to wake up a short while later and frantically start scribbling in my diary. More on the diary later...

My husband came in, and immediately held me. And I told him the bed didn't feel right, I couldn't sleep there. He asked if I wanted him to move it, and I said yes. At first, I couldn't decide where to put it. Eventually I told him to move it back to where it had originally been. And he did. He lugged the king-size bed back to the other spot. And I slept better than night than I have in a week.

Part of the reason I didn't want the bed there was because in our old house, where my daughter died, the bed was against the wall between two windows. But somehow, it was important to me to be able to see the door and I actually wanted the bed to be positioned similar to how it was in our old house.

Feng shui--apparently a Chinese art which helps balance the energies of a particular space to ensure fortune, health, luck, etc. I kept thinking about feng shui while my husband was rearranging our room. I kept thinking there was no way I could ever balance the energies of my room. We have a beautiful house, twice the size of our old one. And all I can think is that if she was still with us, we wouldn't be here.

We just got a new TV. My parents bought it for us. Our old one was admittedly on its way out, but it certainly wasn't a NEED. And looking at it also reminds me that we wouldn't be here if my daughter was still with us.

I had an appointment with my therapist last week. She said that the first year of living with grief is just feeling and trying to get through each day. The second year, recovery requires that you process what you've gone and are going through. This means talking about it with a therapist, or friends, even if you know what they'll say or even if they say nothing. It means pulling those feelings you've shelved down so you can examine them and truly feel them.

I thought about that for days after the appointment. I had lunch with a friend on Sunday. I didn't want to go--was feeling so emotional about so many things, I thought I'd rather just be alone and I cried the entire 45 minute drive. But once I got there, we started talking. I told her what I've been going through, what the therapist said, and she listened and was so good.

At some point, she mentioned that I might want to write things down. I've known this friend since I was 12 years old and she knows I've kept a journal since I was 8. She suggested that writing it down might make me feel less like I had to remember everything, because then it was there whenever I wanted to look.

So that night, when I sat up in bed feeling all wrong, I was writing "I remember" over and over again. I've done this twice now--written about the events surrounding her death--and it does make me feel a bit better, just as talking to my friend over lunch made me feel better.

My feng shui, balancing of energies, I doubt it'll ever completely happen. I'm trying my best to do what I can with my space, my memories, my feelings, to get there.

Fear of commitment

I belong to a few different (formal) groups. These are groups that have semi-regular members and meetings, which I joined years ago. One group is entirely online and consists of a forum in which I'm actually a moderator.

I've been avoiding these groups in various ways. In the online group, I've become a lurker. I'm still listed as a moderator, but I don't post or moderate anything. The two local groups I would say I participate in minimally. I see members of the groups outside group events, and I do go to occasional group events. I realized recently that I go out of my way to only participate in smaller group events though.

It's almost as though I fear being in a large group. I have this strange idea that I have less control over the conversation and not knowing what will be brought up makes me nervous. At one group meeting recently, we were discussing a book that most of us in attendance had read. The story was about a boy whose twin sister had disappeared, father had left, and mother was living in a haze of drugs and alcohol provided by a local bigshot.

The other women there were mothers, and all agreed that they could see themselves turning into that mother. I felt...crazed. I am living that life but have not taken that path. I did speak up and say that if that mother had one friend who had told her to clean herself up, get out of bed and take care of her son, she might have had the strength to do so. It was so odd though, everyone there acted as though I didn't know what I was talking about. I can't even describe why I was uncomfortable, I just was.

I tend to speak less than I used to in group gatherings. I know it's partially because I just have less to say--my input isn't that important on many topics. And it seems to take a lot of energy to speak.

So overall, I avoid groups, and speak less when I'm in them. And if anyone asks "How are you?" I wonder, do they really want the answer? These days, I mostly say, "I'm doing OK" or "I'm hanging in there." Which is true, I no longer feel like my skin may fall off my bones from despair. But even when the salesgirl at Target says "Have a good evening!" I still think, "How can I? My girl is still gone."

And this type of thought is what has led to my fear of commitment. I want the freedom to be sad if I feel like it, to be happy if that's where I am at the time. It seems there are certain people and particular situations in which that's possible. The circle I'm comfortable in has widened over time, but it's certainly not what it used to be. I suppose it's a slow expansion which will never quite take me back to where I was.

I think that's OK--I'm not that mother who kept her daughter's room completely intact, like a museum or like I was forever waiting for her turn. Nor have I done anything destructive to myself or anyone else. I realize I could still go crazy, often wonder if/when I will, but if limiting my exposure to people, places, etc. helps me get through the day, then hey, so be it.

Just breathe

I can't tell you how many times I've heard that in the past 15 months, or how many times I've told myself "just breathe." I was driving somewhere earlier this week, and heard this guy on the radio. Apparently he won some contest 15 or so years ago, which has made him semi-famous. He sang live on the radio show (which apparently is in NY?) and I loved the words to the song. Surprisingly, I also loved his voice, which isn't the case with most people singing live on the radio.

His video features people looking for work, and he's created a website to help them. Watch it or not, but definitely listen to the words. It's at breathe4jobs.com. Today is one of those days where I'm telling myself, "Keep breathing."


she's fine, most of the time
she takes her days with a smile
she moves like a dancer in lights
spinning around to the sound
sometimes she falls down

breathe, just breathe
take the world off your shoulders
and put it on me
breathe, just breathe
let the life that you live
be all that you need

she likes New York at night
she dreams of running away
shine on, bright like the sun
when even the sky turns gray
i need you to hear me say
i need you to hear me say

breathe, just breathe
take the world off your shoulders
and put it on me
breathe, just breathe
let the life that you live
be all that you need

let go of the fear
let go of the doubt
let go of the ones
who to try to put you down
you're gonna be fine
don't hold it inside
if you hurt right now
then let it all come out

breathe, just breathe
take the world off your shoulders
and put it on me
breathe, just breathe
let the life that you live
be all that you need

breathe, just breathe
take the world off your shoulders
and put it on me
breathe, just breathe
let the life that you can
be all that you need

Speechless shopping

I was telling a friend recently that I feel guilty for not talking to my toddler more when I take her out. Some of it has to do with not wanting to upset the apple cart--if we walk into a store and she's fine, then I'm not going to do anything to change that. If she's fussing, then I'll talk to her, show her things, find a way to distract her.

The other thing is, stores are full of things I wish I could show my older daughter, things she never got to see and never will. I'm literally rendered speechless as I look at the volume of things she never will see. And then I look around and see so many children, moms with their daughters, a little girl with her sister, and I'm even more stunned.

I don't know why this is happening to me now. I get so sad and so angry when I go out. It's worst when I'm shopping, because I see so many things, and so many other parents with children. If I'm at a restaurant with friends or family, then I'm occupied, and while I do think about the foods she never got to eat, the experience is somewhat more limited.

The past few weeks, I've actually come out of stores nearly in tears and/or enraged. I'm not angry AT anyone. But I admit, I often look at parents and think, "Why do you get to have that child (or those children) with you while my girl is gone?"

I have no solution, no way to overcome this feeling. For now, I try to focus on my toddler, to show her as much as possible, just as I did with her older sister. And maybe it's mostly in silence, but I'm trying.

And I remind myself that anyone looking at me would never know, might look at my toddler and think the same--how come I get to be with her, while their child is gone. It's a reminder that I never know what others have been or are going through. A reminder to be compassionate and kind, to myself at least, and to others when possible.