I've heard people talk about the stages of Grief before. The different steps you take to get to acceptance and moving on. While there may be some truth to those, I don't think they apply when you lose your child.
After losing Zach, I haven't been riding a roller coaster of well established and easily defined stages. It has been a terrorist attack of emotions that come and go when they please, without consent from me. I don't think I've moved through any stages. I think it was more like they all hit at once and then just stuck around. While some emotions take an hour, or even a day or two off, they all come back eventually. And some of them bring new friends to the party.
I don't think losing a child is like any other loss. Period. You cannot compare it to that of a friend, a parent or grandparent, a sibling or a pet. So the same rules of Grief just don't apply. Some of the feelings may be similar, but they are on vastly different scales.
People often tell Dan & I that we are doing so well. That they are amazed at where we are in our Grief. I'm baffled by this. For starters, I don't feel like I am doing well. I feel downright crazy most days. And how does anyone know where we are in our Grief? I can't even answer that. I wouldn't know where to begin. So for those of you who are wondering how we are really doing, let me try and explain...
Dan & I are different than most people. We don't show the same types of emotions that most do. We have what I refer to as an emotional "lockdown mode" that we can control. Most people do not have this. They feel things, and it shows. In their faces and actions. We still feel things, we just do not share those feelings with many people. For the better part of my life, I have been called a bitch, heartless, cold, etc, by many people. And that's fine. I CAN be all of those things. But most people assume that because I am not SHOWING emotion, I must not be FEELING emotion. And that couldn't be further from the truth. Since losing Zach, Dan & I have felt and shown more emotions than either of us even knew we were capable of. But we've also locked down many, many feelings and kept them to ourselves, or select people. That is just who we are.
If we walked around showing all the things we were feeling since losing our son, the fallout would be catastrophic. Most people just cannot handle dealing with a Grieving parent. The truth of what we are thinking and feeling is too much for them. And that is fine. So we deal with it together. And with the help of a very small, but amazing support group of friends/family. Being the way we are, makes it hard for others to judge how we are doing. I understand that.
So, here is the best I can do. We are surviving. Some days are better than others. Distraction helps, but isn't a guaranteed fix. We think about Zachary constantly. Everything we see and do relates back to him. There is no escaping the reality that he is gone. We miss him with every fiber of our being and the pain is indescribable. That is our new normal. But we have also made the decision to use that pain as a reminder. A reminder to live, because Zach no longer has that option, and we do. So we've decided to live for him. To do all the things we know he would want us to do. To carry him with us in spirit constantly and use him as a catalyst to keep going, even when it gets difficult. We've adopted his attitude about life and let it inspire and motivate us. It doesn't always work, but it has made a HUGE difference in how we deal. We made our son a promise to get through this, and we refuse to break it. So we push on. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. It is all we can do. We are not the same people we were before, and we never will be.
It's funny how people think about Grief. I think a lot of people believe that if you aren't crying, you must not be sad. I can't begin to tell you how wrong that is.
I had people approach me at the funeral home and say things like "I can't believe you're not crying." or "You don't seem very upset to me." I was so shocked, I didn't even know how to respond. Then a friend of mine arrived, who has also lost a child, and said "I see you are in robot mode. That's good." and I wanted to kiss her. FINALLY someone who understood what I was going through. When you suffer an extreme tragedy, you react in a million different ways at once. You are so overwhelmed with emotions, that rarely does one individual feeling supersede all the others. Well, except maybe numbness. Did I cry? Of course I did. And I still do. All the damn time. Did I scream and yell, and question why? Yes. I went through such an extreme range of emotions in such a short time, that I'm not even sure I had time to recognize them all. I am still experiencing new ones, in fact. And reliving a good deal of the old ones. That is what Grief does to you. It doesn't come in any particular order or arrangement. It can strike you at any time. In any place. And for as short or as long as it takes. Period. So to assume that because someone isn't crying, they aren't sad, is ignorant.
If you've ever had to make life altering decisions in a limited time frame, plan and attend your child's funeral and grieve, all while attempting to maintain any bit of sanity you may still possess, you may understand what "Robot mode" is. It is survival mode, pure and simple. You put your emotions in lockdown and you do what you have to do. Is it easy? Hell no. And it doesn't always work, either. But it is THE ONLY way to get through. Losing a child is something no one should EVER have to deal with. It is unthinkable and more painful than anything you could ever imagine. And it never ends.
But you still have to wake up each day and live. So in order to do this, you create a second face for yourself. And maybe a third and a fourth face, too. Whatever it takes to get through. You smile, you laugh, you act normal. But that is external only. On the inside you are ripped apart. Your heart and soul are barren and you wonder if you will ever truly feel happiness or joy again.
Grief is more often than not, a silent emotion. It is hidden. It shows its face from time to time, but you learn to cover it up with fake smiles and pretend normalcy. You wear a mask and you push through.
For nearly 6 months, I've lived this life. I show one face to the world, while the real one hides just below the surface. You say "I'm fine." or "Things are OK." and you change the subject. That is how you survive. It becomes your new way of life. This is my new normal. You may ask why. Why not show the world your Grief? And some people may choose to do that. I don't. Grief is a very private thing. I've never been one for public displays of emotion, so for me, this is how I deal. Sometimes feelings escape, and it is unavoidable. Triggers are everywhere, and there is nothing you can do at times, but succumb to the emotions. But the rest of the time, you put your mask on and you act normal.
This is what Grief does. It changes you. So don't assume that person who looks "OK" or "Just fine" isn't sad, depressed or in unimaginable pain. Don't ask them why they aren't crying or think of them as cold hearted. They are dealing with things you probably cannot imagine, so just be kind, and sometimes, just offer them a hug.
