I told you i would blog the unfiltered truth. Even when it aint pretty 😉 and sometimes cursing like a sailor for oomph. So, here goes. Its not all sunshine and butterflies. Im not naive, im not an eternal optimist, im not always hopeful. Its pretty bleak tonite, in fact. Life seems completely futile. The best-that-ever-was is gone— and all I have left is to die or lose more people I love.
Thats the cold hard truth of this current sleeplessness. The mind chatter mindfuck.
I miss my son. Christmas was barely bareable. I miss my son. Days are just a means of passing time. I miss my son. Sometimes i think about dying. Sometimes I think of dying-of-crying. The heaving feels like my ribs will collapse and puncture my lungs and impale my heart. The gasping for air makes me panic. The self induced headaches from wailing into the dark. I miss my son.
But then…my mind changes. My fists and jaw unclench. I get distracted or a sad song ends or the phone rings and someone on the other end loves me and makes me smile or the dog barks or snuggles. But most of the time, all on my own, I remember that i am not my thoughts. I remember how hard and long I fought to truly learn, before all this (thank God!!!), that I do have a choice. I always have a choice. Even now.
Sometimes I forget i have a choice and sometimes the sadness feels more important or resonates better with my mood. Feeling my way through, thinking my way through, over thinking my way through. I have a say in it all— in how i face it– in how i accept it– in how i resist it, in how I choose it.
I can choose to lose myself and all my hope. I can choose to feel and be out of control. Im sure no one would blame me. I could go bonkers. I could make poor life choices. I could stay in bed forever. I could be bitter, negative, angry. I could blame. I could shame. I could isolate. I could self destruct.
Nothing sucks as much as the fact that my son is dead. My Son Is Dead. So believe me when I tell you that I am very aware of my options. Ive considered each. Carefully. The good the bad and the melancholy. And somehow, despite any convincing evidence on my worst nights, I choose, ultimately, to believe that life is sacred. Life is beautiful. Life is worth living. This is my choice. I choose to come back into the light after my mind has run off the leash into the dark woods. Again and again for as long as I can. Its no better or worse than anyone elses choice– i try to reserve no judgement in my heart for anyone elses choices– yours, Isaacs– but this is mine.
These truths, now more than ever– are held self evident:
Light without darkness isnt possible. It doesnt exist.
I have zero control over anything but my own choices.
Accepting these truths is a challenge. And takes practice. And requires reeling it in. Alot. A shit ton. And theres no guarantee it works/leads to liberation or peace that passes understanding or enlightenment. But none of that matters. Thats someone elses end game, and good for them, truly. Im just trying to get thru the night. The hour. The bad dream. The memory. The song on the radio.
I have no advice to give on grieving or parenting or loving or bliss or agony. Im not a guru (despite my photo to the contrary!). I can tell you only that I am surrounded in love like an army. Protected shielded buoyed. From the world outside of my mind by a fierce and loyal tribe of family and friends. And I am so grateful.But the inside job is all up to me
And I am so grateful.