Have you ever been somewhere and felt so out of place that you felt like a foreigner? You had no idea where to go or how you’d get there if you did know. Have you ever been somewhere and felt like that even though you had been there dozens upon dozens of times? It is sort of like the opposite of deja vu. When you have deja vu there is a distinct feeling that you have seen something, been somewhere, met someone before. Even if you didn’t know WHY you felt that way there was a certainty that you knew “X”. Going back to the opposite, there’s a certainty that you know NOTHING. That is how I feel today. In terms of grieving that is.
This will take some unraveling & it is not easy to say. Hopefully you can stick with me here. I suppose the easiest way to start is to choose the only word I can right now. Ambivalent. I am ambivalent. I am incapable of forming an idea, an opinion, or a plan. For what, about what, you ask? About this weird, horrible, bizarre anniversary that is tomorrow. It will be January 9th in just a couple hours & that is the day TJ died.
Every year since then I could tell you how the day would roughly look, even the days leading up to it. It would start with Christmas- TJ’s last good day- then slide into the day after- the beginning of the end, as I call it. The memories of his seizure under my mom’s Christmas tree. The bumpy ambulance ride to Children’s National. The discharge back to Mom’s and how, as we entered the house, TJ looked off into the distance, clearly not “here”, and said he was looking at the birds (that no one else could see). The repeat of seizures & the second bumpy ride back to Children’s. And on & on it goes.
So, the holidays are always a holiDAZE and I show up for the memories but also tuck them aside to tend to the year’s festivities & the merriment that I hope ensues. Then I get past New Year’s and it’s that final fateful week. So many ups & downs- mostly downs- to remember. The flashbacks of fights & hugs & people helping & prayers & good docs & bad docs. Oh, what a whirlwind.
And then comes the day before “that” day (today). By then I always know how I basically want the 9th to look- who I’m spending it with, where I’m going, what I’m doing. And some years it’s a very loose idea but it’s an idea, nonetheless. Some years I’ve gathered with family & sent up balloons. Some years we’ve made art projects in his honor & memory. One year I went to a rock shop, a park, & “our” date spot.
But this year? Something strange & unfamiliar has happened this year & it has left me feeling like a foreigner in a land I thought I knew. This year I have no plan, I have no notions, and I have no motivation. It’s as if the wind in my sail has gone out & I cannot muster the fortitude to plan something. But here’s the truly foreign part: I don’t know if I care.
There. I said it. It feels awful. It feels dishonoring to TJ’s memory. It feels like….”what the fuck is your problem?” It feels shameful.
And so I shared this feeling of guilt and shame with a few people who are close to me. And they each had really beautiful insights. I share these (paraphrased) here as a means of my own personal reminder & also in the hopes it will help someone else.
From my dear sweetie….. “Do you feel like you have to celebrate [birthdays/holidays/occasions] a certain way?” No, except that it should be the way each child has requested. It’s their special day & they get it to look how they choose. “Is it even always ON the actual day?” No, the bigger celebration is on the day that works best for the planned activities and who will be there. “Then why do you need to do something particular on a particular day? You honor TJ on so many different days.”……………………..This got me thinking that the WAY I know I am making each child feel special on their day is because I am able to ask them what they want. I am not able to ask TJ. So not only do I not know, but I also can’t ask him. This all feels so foreign to me. “Yep.”
From my dear Sis….. “What would it look like to just lay it down?” Now this one is just amazingly challenging. But as she went on to talk I could sense that a tug of war has been & still is going on. Lay it down? The grief? What does that even mean or further more, what does that even look like? I felt that deep in my bones I knew the answer.
From my other dear Sis….. “Years after S. died I decided I could no longer celebrate his death. The world changed when he was born. And yes, the world changed when he died, too. But I choose now to only celebrate his birthday.” …………………..It’s hard celebrating a birthday for someone who is not here. Harkening back to my first conversation, I can’t ask TJ how he’d like to celebrate. But Sis reminded me that I am connected to him, to the universe, to my inner self, and to trust myself. “Maybe your inner voice is nudging you that it is time to stop celebrating his death,” adding, “You honor him every day by getting out of bed.” ……………………..I suppose I never thought of it that way. If I think back to 5 1/2 years ago, I could readily agree. But to think after 6 years it is in the smallest of acts- putting my feet to the floor- that I am honoring him? That is hard to swallow. I admitted to her I am fearful that if I don’t think of a way to honor tomorrow (& every January 9th to come) then the day will come & go & I will have done nothing. And THAT, that feels wrong & shameful. The opposite of honoring. But I know her meaning & I see her point.
From my Mama….. “You can’t think on it every day for the sake of your own sanity.” Well, truer words were never spoken. And she would know, having lost HER son, too. I DO think of TJ, the boy, the person, the soul every day. But not the death. Sometimes it’s hard to separate memories of him from the end days. Sometimes they collide. But a good many days I am able to pick up the memories I choose to sit with & have a little meet-up.
The irony in this is that, as I said to my Honey, I do not have TJ here to ask what I should do to honor & commemorate this day. But if he were here there would be no day asking to be commemorated. Ain’t that a thinker?
So here I am. Here we are, now that you’ve humored me & gone on the magical mystery tour of my brain. Do I feel any better? Do I have a plan? Do I feel like less of a foreigner in my “own” land? Nope. Do I still feel rather duplicitous? A traitor to my people, those other grieving parents? Yes. But I can’t change it. It’s this weird fucking experience I’m going through right now. I can’t make heads nor tails of it. What I can tell you is that I am ok with it. Suck it up, buttercup. This is life. This is grief. There’s no Hallmark list of annual grief sentiments. “Year one, the year of paper filled with cards & books from everyone you didn’t know you knew. Year two, the year of flowers filled with stems & bouquets from people who live close enough to drop them off. Year three, the year of food (sometimes doubles up in year one) filled with takeout and coffee and lunch dates.” And please don’t get me wrong. The cards, books, flowers, lunch & coffee dates are all WONDERFUL. It reminds me that I am loved & that TJ was loved. It’s only to say that there’s no playbook. Because I can tell you one thing for sure: I thought I had the most recent copy of the playbook & apparently there was a last-minute switch that I was not informed of.
And so is the character of grief. “HA! MADE YOU LOOK!”
