A nearly indescribable sense has accompanied me for a few weeks now. I feel disconnected. From what, I don't know, How I don't know. As I type this, I hope to figure something out.
In some ways, I am very happy. Triple S and I are perhaps more in love than ever before.
I am quite content working at home. Yes, maybe I am obsessive on Facebook (I AM that person in the office that spends too much time at the water cooler), but, for the most part, I am content to be by myself. That's not to say that I am not procrastinating, but heck, I am the boss. I would like more business, just for increased finances, but I am not stressed out about it. My daily life is good.
If I am out and about, I am perky. I am smiling. Laughing. Pleasant.
I think I feel disconnected from my sadness. It's there. Sometimes it's like the quiet girl at the party. In the corner. But reasonably content to be at the party, watching everyone else be crazy and listening to everyone else talk.
I've never been a very shy person. Well, those that know me may think that is an understatement (and maybe you can even tell from my comments). But I do have my moments. For instance, I totally do not know what to do with shy people. They kinda scare me, and make me paranoid. I can't read their expressions. They're not talking, so I don't know what they are thinking. They don't wear their hearts on their sleeves, like I do. They make me shy.
It seems that my grief has become shy. It's afraid to be seen in public, to make anyone uncomfortable. It's taken a back seat, it's being led instead of leading, it's off in the corner. And now, I don't know how to interact with it.
Perhaps it is waiting, perhaps it is watching. Perhaps I need to make the first move. I can't tell. I am used to my grief dictating my schedule, erupting uncontrollably through sobs and anger. Is it now lurking, waiting to pounce on me when I least expect it?
About three months after Serenity died, I stuck a post-it on my computer monitor that reads "Contentment", written in green ink. I thought at the time, my goal in life from here on out would be to acheive contentment, because I didn't think I could be happy without my daughter. Happiness and contentment are subtly different. I've always viewed contentment as happiness with a shade of longsuffering.
Maybe I have reached that point that I once viewed as a lifelong goal, that I could only hope to one day reach. Now that I am here, I am not sure if it is happiness or contentment, or neither. My mood is light. I am in a good place. I accept that I am living a life without my first child. I can still be happy about other things. I can't remember a time in my life that I was ever completely happy. There was always some angst (particularly teen angst, which, of course, was the absolute worst), or something in the big scheme that was keeping me from total enlightenment. Right now, the happiness in the day to day, when I am not looking at that shy emotion in the corner, outweighs my stresses. This is the point I wanted to get to before becoming pregnant again. To give myself a break. But I can't say that I am unrestrained in my happiness.
I am also quite content. Life is ok. Spring is coming (and today is tricking me at nearly 70 when it could be 15). I am dreaming of my garden, of biking, of the summer warmth. I love not working under a stupevisor. The cold doesn't seem to be bothering me as much this year as it usually does. But I am not completely content, because my daughter is not here.
I think I am just being. I am present. And maybe that is another form of contentment or happiness, or whatever you want to call it. I am not struggling against anything right now. I am not pregnant again, nor trying to get there. For the first time in 15 years, my back pain is retreating. I simply am.
Maybe I am with my grief, standing in the corner. I am happy to see life going by, to see what others are doing. I don't really want to talk that much. My feet are itching to get on the dance floor, but I would likely resist anyone trying to drag me out there. I accept just being here.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
She Almost Made It/ SerenityJoy by Leung Ya Chun (AKS) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Serenity Joy almost made it into this world alive, but almost doesn't count. Her little sister did make it.
When we choose not to focus on what is missing from our lives but are grateful for the abundance that's present -- love, health, family, friends, work, the joys of nature and personal pursuits that bring us pleasure -- the wasteland of illusion falls away and we experience Heaven on earth.
-Sarah Ban Breathnach
She almost made it
Blog Resources
Posts
This material is copyrighted
Who, Where?
- March 2010 - Beanie makes it
- July 2009 - BFP
- December 12, 2008 - We finally take our 'honeymoon' vacation
- September 18, 2008 - D & C
- Septermber 12, 2008 - no heartbeat
- August 27, 2008 - 'indeterminate' u/s
- August 17, 2008 BFP - Double holy freakout!
- June 30, 2008 - Official last day of employment with stupevisor
- February 13, 2008 - Serenity's due date
- February 6, 2008 - Serenity is delivered
- It's a girl!
- June 11, 2007 - BFP - holy freakout!
- April 2007 - 'Hey, let's stop trying to not get pregnant'
- July 2003 - We move to the Midwest
- May 25, 2002 - Our third and final wedding
- December 23, 2001 - Our second wedding
- December 13, 2001 - Our first wedding
- August 1998 - Triple S and Ya Chun meet
She Almost Made It/ SerenityJoy by Leung Ya Chun (AKS) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
10 comments:
yes. I think I understand what you are saying. I'm just getting back to who I was, and who I am now is quite different. I find my priorities altered.
You just be where you need to be Ya Chun. No expectations at all.
that's the best description of how the grief changes. really, it scares the crap out of me that it's not front-and-center; i get afraid of the detriment i may do myself in "denial" but really, what you saId seems more like the truth. maybe i'm not in denial.
I think you hit a point in your grief where you have to disconnect in some little way...otherwise, you wouldn't make it through the days.
We will never be the same, similar, but not the same.
I get it. Some days I AM happy, but often I just am. My grief too has made me shy again.
I think that sometimes we have to put our grief in a box on the top shelf of the closet. It's still there and with us, but it's not in your face. And it's weird to have that feeling when it's been in your face for so long. And I get the shyness too. Most times, I would rather just not talk.
I think you've reached the inevitable point that we have to with grief. It just can't be at the fore all the time otherwise we'd be exhausted. It's unnerving though the quiet. Sometimes it rears it's head again, but each time it recedes faster. It's an odd sense of peace. I hope you enjoy it for a while. You deserve the space.
I get what you're saying. When my grief takes a back seat it feels weird to me still but I hope to get to where you are; you sound content and peaceful. And no supervisors sounds heavenly.
Yes. Absolutely, yes. It just can't always be about the grief, can it? Sometimes, it gets to be about life too, maybe not the one we chose but the one we have and it can still be good, can't it?
I agree that is so well explained that the grief certainly does just change. I am glad that the intense part is over however I got used to it too..and now I just am. Hmmm
Post a Comment