What surprises me most about grief is how functional I feel. People have been dying since the first person died, so I keep telling myself, “This is normal. People are meant to move on.” I’ve known a lot of people who have lost loved ones, and they seem so normal, so functional. I wonder why I don’t feel more sad. More angry. I feel like if I have to land on a step of grief, shock is the closest I can name.
But it’s not like the shock of opening the front door, with the children crowding round, when the police knocked that night. Hearing his name, that there had been an accident, that I should rush to hospital as soon as I could. Seeing his bloody face. Meeting the surgeons who said they would TRY to get him through the night. I felt wrapped in a blanket of slow-down. Over and over…I’d feel that shock, a gift in times of trauma. But I think I must have used it up like too much serotonin. The numbness that used to cary me through has lost it’s edge. The game is over, the momentum is gone.
It’s like a drug that doesn’t exactly stop working…but you stop recognizing it. It get’s watered down over time. It helps for a bit, protects you from processing too much reality at once. But then you wonder after time: is this numbness grief? Or is it just that I’ve become hardened with too much of it, like a washed up addict. I need something else to help me now. Something to make me FEEL.
Is this still shock? Is it denial? Or is it a different thing? Is this the new me, and I just need to get used to it?
I need another word for this non-ness, this cushion between my brain and my heart.
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I could imagine that numbness is one symptom of grief. It seems to be the way your body is naturally responding to get you through today and maybe tomorrow, and the next. And on a future day, there will be a different response that will also be natural and will also be your body’s way of trying to take care of you.
It seems as though you’re like a sailboat, Alli, driven off-course by a severe storm. Now that this typhoon has passed, you’re sitting still, not knowing where you might have ended up. You try to dip your weak hands into the water and paddle, but you don’t know which way to go, and it doesn’t get you moving anyways. So, you wait. There will be a breeze soon, subtle but, nevertheless, there. You will be moved when the time is right. And it will be toward pleasant places. So, I say stay where you are right now, girl. Don’t try to imagine your way to anywhere. You don’t feel it, but we’re all assuring you you’re in a good place. “Two things I know: one is that you, O God, are strong. And that you, O Lord, are loving.” Psalm 62
Norm, your words. Seriously. I’ll buy your book — please write it. It will be good for all of our souls. 🙂
Excellent – lovely.
Norm your response to Allison is profound & Beautiful. Thank you both for sharing. Grief is indeed very different.
From my experience, I would call it a form of PTSD,
For 2 years + you smiled, took care of what seemed like
a million different things, made arrangements, calling
for places Vernon could go, social security arrangements, tons of arrangements for the kids,researching medicines….I could really go on and on, and I think your parents and Sandy could
add much more, than I don’t know about.
Have you ever seen the picture/Symbol of the “Wounded Warrior Project”? One warrior is carrying
what looks to me like a very heavy man that has been
hurt…..
That is how I see you Allison, you carried a very
heavy, hurt Vernon, and the kids too!
I think now the shock of all those years is starting
to show up. I think that is how God works, he doesn’t give us the emotions all at once. He gives us strength to do the job we need to do!
I know you are a joy and witness to some many people you came in contact with…..even those many who have never met you, thru your blog….
Be gracious to your self, you have been a Warrior,
caring for all that you needed to do for Vernon, Maki and Justine.
Allison,
You have been a Warrior and you have carried a supreme burden and care. All the things that was said before and you still are a inspiration to a lot of people. This was not a plan for you life but things happen and God is there and is in control even tho at times we don’t believe it. But you know all about the God and how he cares for you and Justine and Maki.You have been there for not only Vernon but you have been there for all of us. I can look back and the time you tried to get the lady from San Berardino to stay home but she came anyway. Just give yourself time to relax and read the Bible and God will be with you and guide you through it all.
Hugs,
Becky
prayers to you, allison.
dear , dear Allison ..i have read the above comments ..so beautifully written and i have to say they have written my thoughts down , better than i could …
just one thing to add … we have been grieving for the “Vern”, that he was before the accident, for the last 2 1/2 years ..now we are grieving for the Vern that no longer needs to be cared for ..and grieving Vern that is no longer in our lives …it will take time .. we all grieve differently , our body and brains know how to help us get through each day .. one step at a time .
xx love to you all, biggest hugs ..wish i could be with you , for those hugs xx
Hi Alison, I just read about Vernon’s death. I am so, so sorry. I think about you often. I can imagine that you do feel grey after all you have been through, but your writing is so alive and honest and human – it doesn’t sound numb at all.
Thanks Katharine, for checking in. Wish I could have made it to your 3rd Debate Dinner. 🙂 Thanks for the words of support and sympathy. I don’t think I’m numb by someone else’s standards…but I am numb by my own, if that makes sense. I used to be able to name my feelings so much better.