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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.
Thank you for that concept of 'statute of limitations'. I am holding on to that today. For the first time since Salome died, today I have decided not to go in to work because frankly I am not feeling up to it. My work for the day will instead be entirely about self care and trying to comfort myself. It's cold and windy here. I am predicting high calorie comfort eating, probably some time to cry, maybe some phonecalls if I can manage it, maybe a walk on the beach if the wind dies down. I agree it is never too late to get angry or sad or whatever.
ReplyDeleteYou are right, there are limits--but that was probably true BEFORE you lost your daughter as well, right? To me, the death of your daughter IS your "real life," but because we all have a practical life--ie, one that includes work, school, taking care of others, etc.--we sometimes have to put our needs aside in order to address the more practical side of things. But I see this as only temporary, and like Sophia said, it's never too late to come back to those emotions, to take the time that you need for yourself when you can.
ReplyDeleteIt's never too late to grieve, more that there's a statute of limitations on other people's tolerance, I suppose. Goes back to the analogy of a broken leg--people see the cast on and give you a lot of leeway while you're wearing, and even later when you're still limping around a bit. Many people seem to expect me to no longer be limping around. Fortunately, there are others who understand I will forever walk with a limp and that I have a weakness that can suddenly be brought forth by a sight, sound, or thought.
ReplyDeleteI do have to be more tolerant of myself in this too, I know. My therapist is constantly telling me I'm too hard on myself.