The Black Hole of Grief

Last night, I had a really good talk with my sister-in-law, Tonya. She is one of the very few people who has shown endless support and concern for Dan and I. She doesn't just ask how I'm doing, and if she does, she refuses to let me get away with saying "I'm ok." or "I'm fine." She digs deeper, and she asks real questions. When I talk to her, I feel like she is genuinely trying to understand where I'm coming from and she truly wants to help. She has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I've ever met, and when she cries with me, I know her empathy is sincere. That means more than she'll probably ever know, because that is such a rare quality. Now don't get me wrong, I have wonderful friends and family. I know that there is a large number of people out there who care about Dan & I and would be there in a heartbeat if we asked. But that's where the problem lies. We aren't going to ask. Grief is a strange emotion, and as I've said before, it is 99% private. More often than not, I am going to keep my feelings to myself. Not because I don't want to talk about it, though that may be the case sometimes. But mainly because I know that most people just don't want to hear about it. And that is fine. I don't blame them. So I put on my normal face, and I go about my life. They assume I'm fine, and I am perfectly happy allowing them that peace of mind. But the truth is, I am far from fine. And last night, while talking to Tonya, she mentioned how much she thinks writing about what I'm going through helps me. But she also told me how it helps her to understand what I'm dealing with and how she can better help me. And you know what... She's right. Writing has always been a form of therapy for me. I never thought about whether or not I was good or bad at it. I only knew that when I sat down to write, I felt better, like a weight had been lifted. That my mind felt clearer afterwards. I realized last night that I don't like to talk about my feelings, but I don't mind writing about them. So, in some strange way, this is therapeutic for me. And if by reading this, it helps someone else, that is just a bonus. 

One of the things that came up in our talk last night was what I refer to as the Black Hole of Grief. I've referenced this before, but I'm not sure I ever really explained what it is, or what it feels like. So here goes...

From the moment I walked into the hospital room and saw my son, I instantly knew that my life had been changed forever. I didn't need a doctor or nurse to tell me that he was gone. I just knew. My son was one of those people that exudes energy and light. His presence was felt from the moment he entered a room, and noticed as soon as he left. When I saw him in that hospital bed, his light was gone. Not just dulled, but extinguished entirely. It was in that moment, that the Black Hole became a part of my life. I've talked about those first moments before. How I wanted nothing more than to get in the car and follow him into whatever came next. And had the situation gone differently, who knows... I may have just done that. But I couldn't. Not only did my son need me, but so did my husband, and we had decisions to make, and questions to answer. But the Black Hole was there, just looming in the background. I'm not sure how to describe the Black Hole. It's like a physical presence that is constantly lingering by your side. It beckons you to fall in and forget everything. To give up. To be swallowed by the overwhelming pain and allow it to take over. It is the darkness that you struggle to ignore. It is the shadow that accompanies every bit of light that you fight to uncover. It is always there and it is very strong. From the moment I wake up, it is there. It's like a constant battle of wills. To get out of bed and keep going, or give in to the Black Hole and give up. Do I go to the party and TRY and have fun? Or do I give in to the Black Hole and wallow in my misery? Do I continue on in search of the light? Or do I give in and succumb to the darkness? 

I made a promise to my son that day at the hospital. I promised him that I would fight. That I would live for him. That I would try and be more like he was, and find the joy in life. That I would take care of his Dad and that together, we would make him proud. I knew when I made this promise that it would be the hardest promise I've ever had to keep. But I refuse to break it. It was the last one I made to him and sometimes it is the only thing keeping me from falling into the Black Hole. So I get up. And I get dressed. I put on my makeup, and I plaster a fake smile on my face. I fight the darkness with every fiber of my being, and I hope that someday, I win. I hope that someday the smile will be real, and that as time goes on, the Black Hole will get smaller and less powerful. This is my daily battle. And it is far from an easy one. But I have the most amazing angel on my team, and together, we WILL get through this.