I am wrapping things up for my very first official craft show this weekend. With everything that has happened these past few weeks, I am surprised I even want to go through with it, but strangely, I do. Zachary was so excited for me, and he genuinely loved my crafts, that I feel like I owe it to him to do this.
I know he'll be watching over me and I hope I do him proud. Aside from my son, my crafts are one of the few things that I am truly proud of. Not only do I wholeheartedly enjoy making them, I feel honored when someone chooses to purchase something I made for their home or as a gift. I have never considered myself an artist, but I have always had a tendency towards all things creative. Being able to not only make, but also sell the items I create, gives me a good feeling of accomplishment. One that no other job I've ever had (except being a parent) gives me.
I am dedicating this first show to my son, and I hope that it is a success. Although, I know even if I sell nothing, he would still be proud of me for trying. That's just who he was. It will be strange to do this without him, but I will carry him with me in spirit and in my heart, and I will do my very best to honor his memory.
Thank you, Boy Child, for always supporting (and sometimes helping) my creative side. It always made me happy to know that you thought it was so cool, and would brag about it to people. I will miss having you as my favorite crafting partner... Trips to Hobby Lobby will never be the same. Love you, kid. Wish me luck on Saturday...
I craft, I write, I collect gnomes and strawberry stuff. I am a grieving mother, a rally fanatic, a wife and a whole lot more. I share what's on my mind and I hope you appreciate it. Follow me on facebook to see more!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Grief
Wow... it's been awhile. So much has happened in such a short amount of time... Where do I even begin?
On August 3, 2012 (exactly 25 days ago) my son, Zachary was in a car accident. On August 4, 2012, he passed away due to his injuries. At 18 years old, he had his entire life ahead of him. He had just graduated high school (Cum Laude) and was preparing to start college in September. I could go on and on about what an amazing young man he was, and how many lives he touched. This is an endless list. But that is not why I am writing today. Today I want to talk about Grief. (Yes, I believe it deserves a capital G...)
When you lose a loved one, you go through a series of emotions. Anger, guilt, hurt, loneliness, etc. When you lose a child, you experience all of those same emotions, but they are hard to identify because they are overshadowed by one major thing. Emptiness. In one split second your life is over. Your reason for each breath is gone. The pain is indescribable, and only one who has felt it can understand. But above all that, looms a terrible, crushing emptiness. I know my heart still beats, because I am alive, but I am nearly certain there is a hole where that organ used to be. My soul is gone. I see the same face when I look in the mirror, yet is is vastly different. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, mine are closed. Permanently. I am followed by what feels like a physical black hole. It sits there, just at the edge of my consciousness, begging me to fall in and never come out. And it is oh so tempting... One of the very first things you experience when you lose a child is the contemplation of suicide. (And maybe this was just me.) The idea of never seeing, hearing or holding your child again is unimaginable and impossible to accept. The easiest and fastest solution to that problem is to join them in the hereafter. Sounds crazy, right? 26 days ago, I would have agreed. But in that moment, when your entire world falls apart, it seems as logical as breathing. For me, that moment passed as soon as I looked at my husband. In that moment, the only other person in the world I cared about was him. And the idea of hurting him even a little was just too much to bear. Had I known in that moment that he was fighting the same internal battle, who knows what would have happened. But luckily, neither of us knew that.
Now, don't get me wrong, we are NOT suicidal. It is just that initial emotional impact that sends you into a place so dark, it would be easy to never come out. We opted to fight back. I made a promise to my son that I would take care of his father. I promised him that I would keep living and keep fighting. I fully intend to keep that promise. But understand, this is not an easy road. Grief is the most unfair enemy. It plays by no rules, and it takes no prisoners. Grief takes its toll on every aspect of your existence. It effects you in ways you could not have imagined and holds on tightly. This is something that I want people to understand. When you lose a child, you do not just grieve. This is not a loss like a parent, a friend or a pet. (Yes, people try to compare losing a dog or cat to what you are experiencing.) This is a loss that has no equal. Period. So PLEASE do not try to tell a Grieving parent that you "understand" what they are feeling, unless you yourself have lost a child. While I am on the subject, here are a few other suggestions:
*Do not say "They are in a better place." To a parent, there is no such thing as a better place than with your child. They belong with you and that is it.
*Do not say "God works in mysterious ways." or for that matter, any trite religious quote. Not everyone finds solace in religion, or the Lord, and if you do, great, but do not assume that a Grieving parent does as well.
*Do not say "It must have been their time." Really? I didn't realize my child had an expiration date. I would really have appreciated that memo...
*Do not ask if we have other children. I realize your intention may be innocent, but all a Grieving parent hears is "Well... at least you have a replacement." On that note, it's also NOT a good idea to suggest they have more children. Like you can simply replace the one you lost. This may work with pets, but not with children.
*Also, this is one instance where silence is NOT golden. Saying nothing is worse than saying ALL of the above. Any attempt at comfort is better than no attempt. A simple, "I am thinking of you." or "Sending you hugs." or "I love you." is wonderful. NO ONE likes to deal with death. So don't use the "I'm just not good in these situations." to make yourself feel better about doing nothing. One thing a Grieving parent learns quickly is that people can be cut out of your life very easily. Suddenly, a lot of things (and people) are not nearly as important as they once seemed, and the fastest way to be on that list is to do or say nothing.
*Support means EVERYTHING. A call, a text, a facebook message, a drop in, a lunch date, a simple smile and hug mean more than you will EVER know. A parents Grief does not end when the funeral does. It NEVER ends. So just because you have moved on, does not mean that they have.
These are just a few simple suggestions to help people understand what we are going through. These are by no means accusations, or even black and white guidelines. Every person and every parent is different. And even Grieving parents understand that this is a difficult issue to deal with for outsiders. We do try to see past the faux pas, and try to understand where people are coming from. That being said, we are also human, and can and may freak out on occasion. Please don't hold that against us. We love you, and know you are doing your best.
It is also important to note that just because a Grieving parent is attempting to go about doing normal things, that DOES NOT mean we are back to normal. We no longer have a normal. We may smile, laugh, joke, work, go out to dinner, take trips, etc, but 99.9% of what you see is merely an act. We are TRYING to learn to live again, and we may have to fake it sometimes. Please do not take this personal. It is just what happens. We still want to do things, so please don't stop inviting us. Though we may sometimes decline, we may also accept. You just never know. Our emotions and nerves are well past frayed and raw and somewhere in the category of a live wire. You just never know what may trigger a break down. It could be something as simple as a word, a place or a type of food. We have no idea. And when it happens, it is out of our control. The emotions just take over. We apologize in advance for this. It will be awkward and embarrassing for everyone involved. Sorry.
I suppose I will try to wrap this up (for today at least) and just say this; Grief sucks. No one asks to lose a child, and NO ONE knows how to deal with it, least of all the Grieving parents. So just be understanding and patient and generous with the hugs. That is all we ask...
On August 3, 2012 (exactly 25 days ago) my son, Zachary was in a car accident. On August 4, 2012, he passed away due to his injuries. At 18 years old, he had his entire life ahead of him. He had just graduated high school (Cum Laude) and was preparing to start college in September. I could go on and on about what an amazing young man he was, and how many lives he touched. This is an endless list. But that is not why I am writing today. Today I want to talk about Grief. (Yes, I believe it deserves a capital G...)
When you lose a loved one, you go through a series of emotions. Anger, guilt, hurt, loneliness, etc. When you lose a child, you experience all of those same emotions, but they are hard to identify because they are overshadowed by one major thing. Emptiness. In one split second your life is over. Your reason for each breath is gone. The pain is indescribable, and only one who has felt it can understand. But above all that, looms a terrible, crushing emptiness. I know my heart still beats, because I am alive, but I am nearly certain there is a hole where that organ used to be. My soul is gone. I see the same face when I look in the mirror, yet is is vastly different. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, mine are closed. Permanently. I am followed by what feels like a physical black hole. It sits there, just at the edge of my consciousness, begging me to fall in and never come out. And it is oh so tempting... One of the very first things you experience when you lose a child is the contemplation of suicide. (And maybe this was just me.) The idea of never seeing, hearing or holding your child again is unimaginable and impossible to accept. The easiest and fastest solution to that problem is to join them in the hereafter. Sounds crazy, right? 26 days ago, I would have agreed. But in that moment, when your entire world falls apart, it seems as logical as breathing. For me, that moment passed as soon as I looked at my husband. In that moment, the only other person in the world I cared about was him. And the idea of hurting him even a little was just too much to bear. Had I known in that moment that he was fighting the same internal battle, who knows what would have happened. But luckily, neither of us knew that.
Now, don't get me wrong, we are NOT suicidal. It is just that initial emotional impact that sends you into a place so dark, it would be easy to never come out. We opted to fight back. I made a promise to my son that I would take care of his father. I promised him that I would keep living and keep fighting. I fully intend to keep that promise. But understand, this is not an easy road. Grief is the most unfair enemy. It plays by no rules, and it takes no prisoners. Grief takes its toll on every aspect of your existence. It effects you in ways you could not have imagined and holds on tightly. This is something that I want people to understand. When you lose a child, you do not just grieve. This is not a loss like a parent, a friend or a pet. (Yes, people try to compare losing a dog or cat to what you are experiencing.) This is a loss that has no equal. Period. So PLEASE do not try to tell a Grieving parent that you "understand" what they are feeling, unless you yourself have lost a child. While I am on the subject, here are a few other suggestions:
*Do not say "They are in a better place." To a parent, there is no such thing as a better place than with your child. They belong with you and that is it.
*Do not say "God works in mysterious ways." or for that matter, any trite religious quote. Not everyone finds solace in religion, or the Lord, and if you do, great, but do not assume that a Grieving parent does as well.
*Do not say "It must have been their time." Really? I didn't realize my child had an expiration date. I would really have appreciated that memo...
*Do not ask if we have other children. I realize your intention may be innocent, but all a Grieving parent hears is "Well... at least you have a replacement." On that note, it's also NOT a good idea to suggest they have more children. Like you can simply replace the one you lost. This may work with pets, but not with children.
*Also, this is one instance where silence is NOT golden. Saying nothing is worse than saying ALL of the above. Any attempt at comfort is better than no attempt. A simple, "I am thinking of you." or "Sending you hugs." or "I love you." is wonderful. NO ONE likes to deal with death. So don't use the "I'm just not good in these situations." to make yourself feel better about doing nothing. One thing a Grieving parent learns quickly is that people can be cut out of your life very easily. Suddenly, a lot of things (and people) are not nearly as important as they once seemed, and the fastest way to be on that list is to do or say nothing.
*Support means EVERYTHING. A call, a text, a facebook message, a drop in, a lunch date, a simple smile and hug mean more than you will EVER know. A parents Grief does not end when the funeral does. It NEVER ends. So just because you have moved on, does not mean that they have.
These are just a few simple suggestions to help people understand what we are going through. These are by no means accusations, or even black and white guidelines. Every person and every parent is different. And even Grieving parents understand that this is a difficult issue to deal with for outsiders. We do try to see past the faux pas, and try to understand where people are coming from. That being said, we are also human, and can and may freak out on occasion. Please don't hold that against us. We love you, and know you are doing your best.
It is also important to note that just because a Grieving parent is attempting to go about doing normal things, that DOES NOT mean we are back to normal. We no longer have a normal. We may smile, laugh, joke, work, go out to dinner, take trips, etc, but 99.9% of what you see is merely an act. We are TRYING to learn to live again, and we may have to fake it sometimes. Please do not take this personal. It is just what happens. We still want to do things, so please don't stop inviting us. Though we may sometimes decline, we may also accept. You just never know. Our emotions and nerves are well past frayed and raw and somewhere in the category of a live wire. You just never know what may trigger a break down. It could be something as simple as a word, a place or a type of food. We have no idea. And when it happens, it is out of our control. The emotions just take over. We apologize in advance for this. It will be awkward and embarrassing for everyone involved. Sorry.
I suppose I will try to wrap this up (for today at least) and just say this; Grief sucks. No one asks to lose a child, and NO ONE knows how to deal with it, least of all the Grieving parents. So just be understanding and patient and generous with the hugs. That is all we ask...
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