Navigating Grief--Part 3

There are five stages of grief; I believe that I have gone through a couple so far. The denial part, for sure. I kept saying this can’t be happening. This can’t be true. I’ll wake up from this nightmare, and everything will be as it once was. He’s not really gone. 

And then, the anger hit. That stage hit very hard. I was angry with God and felt anger toward others for no reason. I was just mad—mad at the world, mad at drivers, slow people, stupid people. I think that part is settling down now. I can tolerate others a little better. I was never mad at Jack, my grandson, Never!  Or at the friend he was with that morning. If anything, I am thankful that he wasn’t hurt. I feel no anger at myself or anyone, really, mainly just at God. When I prayed and asked him to protect my family—I stupidly thought he’d do that. It will take a while for me to reconcile that part with God. 

The bargaining stage has me needing clarification. Who are you bargaining with? And what are you bargaining?  Since I wasn’t involved in Jack’s accident, I guess the guilt part doesn’t affect me. However, maybe God would have spared him if I had been a better Christian. Perhaps that’s part of bargaining. I’ll have to think about this one.

Depression. That’s right where I am right now. I am so sad—all the time. Every few minutes, Jack’s death hits me full force, and it knocks the wind out of me. I wake up at night crying. I walk through the house and see where he has sat. I can’t seem to go more than a few minutes without thinking of him and missing him. Sadness overwhelms me to the point where I am almost afraid to go out with friends for fear of breaking down. Do they think I’ve grieved enough? After all, it’s been 2 1/2 months. Do they think I should snap out of it? At least that’s where my mind takes me, whether they think these thoughts or not, I wonder. So, I play a little game with myself. Get through this time with friends (or family), go there, do that, smile, and then when you get home, you can let it rip. And I do. I cry my heart out. Usually, all the way home. My motto now is—to fake it until you make it. I am managing my depression. I realize what is going on. I am taking all the essential steps. I don’t isolate. I get together with friends. I go out. I make plans for the future. There are times when I do feel happiness. And I do see a future. It’s just learning to manage the sadness. That part is so hard. 

The next stage I look forward to is acceptance. Life should get easier. I sure hope so because this part is so heavy—almost too heavy to navigate. I do see a slight improvement. I work hard, but I have crucial elements missing. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll do my best. I have been a Christian since I was six years old. I’ve always had a very close relationship with God. I feel that that relationship is now broken. I am dealing with trust issues. I haven’t been to church since Jack’s death. Nor do I have a desire to go. I keep putting it off. Next week. Next time. Anger is holding me back. In time, I know that I will turn a corner when I do go, but for now, I’m ok with where I am. Spiritually, I feel dead, although I know that isn’t true. Until that leaves me, though, I’ll keep that distance between God and me. I have not prayed, I have not sung, I have not felt close to God. And, for me, that is heartbreaking. I’ve never felt this abandoned before. It’s a terrifying place to be. 

I keep thinking that if others pray for me, God may hear them. He’s not listening to me right now, but maybe it’s because I’m still not talking to him. 

Navigating Grief--Part 2

Grief is hard. It's always walking around in a fog. Forgetting everything--why did I come into this room? Why am I on this street? What am I doing? Brain fog, it turns out, is real. 

Also, I found out that I am not grieving for just one person. I am not grieving for just my grandson. I grieve for my daughter, too. For every tear I shed, there are more for her. How can I not? She is my daughter, and her life has changed forever. She will never be the same. So, I cry. A lot. I miss my grandson, and I miss her. 

I wake up every morning, and the minute reality hits me, I instantly become sad. That's how I start my days now. Sadness overwhelms me. I hate the new reality of my life and that of my family. We are missing one. We are now broken. 

I have yet to return to church. I am still angry with God. I went from a person who prayed a lot to a person who does not want to pray at all. I do not want to talk to God. He has let me down. He did not protect my family, and honestly, that's all I really ever wanted from him: protection. Actually, thinking this over--I do pray a little. I tell him I am still mad at him and don't want to talk to him. I guess that's a start. 

I try to tell myself that I am making progress. I am walking out the steps of grief. I am not isolating. I am making plans, moving forward, and keeping busy. I need projects. I need to have things to focus on, even though I lose that focus often. Life feels empty, so I try to fill it with plans and more plans. 

Am I navigating grief? I don't know. I am trying hard. I am giving it my all. I am honest with my feelings. I am feeling the feelings. It's been almost two months now since Jack died. Everything reminds me of him—every single thing. I hear him saying, "Hey, grandma, whatcha got in the pantry? Hey, grandma, can I use your shower?" When I am out shopping, I see things that he liked. I see the foods, the clothing, shoes, you name it, it all points back to him. I guess that's normal, though. I hear that from a lot of people.

I worry about the upcoming months. His birthday is in October, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up. How will we manage? It scares me. I want to hide my head under the covers, fall asleep, and wake up in January. 

For now, I will continue to do what I am doing. I will try to pray, I will try to go to church at some point, and I will meet with friends. I will be with my family, which brings me much comfort. And I will try to heal. But I will never be the same. My heart is in little broken pieces all over the ground. I am hoping someone will come along and sweep them up. I thought it would be God.