It’s been 10 days

Ronni

Ronni

Well-known Member
Location
Nashville TN
**These are brutal words to read, filled with despair. I would apologize, but I have to get them said, spew them out, rid myself of them because they are poisoning me. I absolutely will NOT burden my kids with this rawness, they have way too much to carry already. The next support meeting is several days away. My family is on Facebook so I won’t post there and upset them. It’s early still, and also Thanksgiving Day, so there’s no way I will sully a friend’s day of fun and family with something so heavy.

But I have you all, and as wretched as these words are I know you wil, with kindness and grace, let me unburden myself here. I am sorry for the burden, but I also thank you for letting me set it down.

———————————

10 days since I lost him. The grief and pain come in waves. Sometimes I know what gets it going. Sometimes I’m blindsided by it. It has a life of its own. It’s vicious and unrelenting and torturous.

It hits countless times a day and completely submerges me. When I finally claw my way above water again, I think “I can’t survive this.” I wonder how anyone does, how anyone can. I feel worn down to a speck, diminished by such profound anguish that I feel like a shadow, yet so heavy that I can barely move.

My life consists of moving from one wave of loss to the next, trying to survive each onslaught, and in between those waves I attempt normalcy. I console my remaining children, spend as much time with them as they and I want. I try and eat, and sleep, run a load of laundry, walk the dogs. All normal things when I know with utter certainty that I’ll never be normal again.

I live in a shadow world. A world of before, and now. My anguish is my reality now, while normal life feels fake and unreal, a brutal and savage reminder of before, when there wasn’t pain and agony and wretchedness.

This is hell. This, right here, what I’m living on a minute to minute basis, this is hell. It isn’t fire and brimstone after all, which would be a welcome relief. It’s a world and a life in which my son no longer exists.

There is no greater hell than that.
 

I can empathize with your pain and emptiness. I didn't lose a child but I lost my sweet husband in October very suddenly and unexpected. I've been going through the motions of living and even smiling when I talk to neighbors or people in a store when I force myself to go shopping but it's all a façade. I show them what I think they want to see but I'm crushed inside.

I'm told it will "get better" but I'm not quite believing it right now. I feel like I'm in a fog and can't quite get myself to think clearly.

I know the feeling of wanting to give up but those around us need us as much as we need them. You are so fortunate to have a close relationship with your family. I envy you that. I have no one. Cling to them. Hug them and tell them you love them as often as you can. Don't take them for granted...ever.

You can come here as often as you need to to talk. We love you and support you. (((HUGS)))
 

Hang in there. You need time, time, and more time. You are starting to do all the "normal" things in life, but when you're ready maybe you should try doing some things that are less normal. Like going somewhere you've never been before, or do an activity you've never tried before. Anything that is new and diverts your attention from the harsh reality of your "new normal". And keep talking to us. We're listening. Hugs.
 
Ronni said:
**These are brutal words to read, filled with despair. I would apologize, but I have to get them said, spew them out, rid myself of them because they are poisoning me. I absolutely will NOT burden my kids with this rawness, they have way too much to carry already. The next support meeting is several days away. My family is on Facebook so I won’t post there and upset them. It’s early still, and also Thanksgiving Day, so there’s no way I will sully a friend’s day of fun and family with something so heavy.

But I have you all, and as wretched as these words are I know you wil, with kindness and grace, let me unburden myself here. I am sorry for the burden, but I also thank you for letting me set it down.

———————————

10 days since I lost him. The grief and pain come in waves. Sometimes I know what gets it going. Sometimes I’m blindsided by it. It has a life of its own. It’s vicious and unrelenting and torturous.

It hits countless times a day and completely submerges me. When I finally claw my way above water again, I think “I can’t survive this.” I wonder how anyone does, how anyone can. I feel worn down to a speck, diminished by such profound anguish that I feel like a shadow, yet so heavy that I can barely move.

My life consists of moving from one wave of loss to the next, trying to survive each onslaught, and in between those waves I attempt normalcy. I console my remaining children, spend as much time with them as they and I want. I try and eat, and sleep, run a load of laundry, walk the dogs. All normal things when I know with utter certainty that I’ll never be normal again.

I live in a shadow world. A world of before, and now. My anguish is my reality now, while normal life feels fake and unreal, a brutal and savage reminder of before, when there wasn’t pain and agony and wretchedness.

This is hell. This, right here, what I’m living on a minute to minute basis, this is hell. It isn’t fire and brimstone after all, which would be a welcome relief. It’s a world and a life in which my son no longer exists.

There is no greater hell than that.
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Ronni, my heart goes out to you and I'm happy you can come here and share what you're feeling. I know your grief is great, as was the love for your son and your family. Good to know you have a support group to listen and perhaps soothe your mind. You're a smart, compassionate and loving lady, I've always admired you for many things.

Sending my love and warm thoughts, wishing you the best during this tragically difficult time. Hugs my friend, please take care of yourself. 💙
 
Oh, Ronni. As a Trooper, I have listened to a lot of stories from people who have lost a child. Some as young as just a few years old. I heard a Pastor tell the parents of a teenaged boy that was killed in an auto accident that when they get to thinking about their son and feeling really blue, they should remember and think about the good memories.

Good memories have a way of turning your face from a frown to a smile. The people around you love you or they wouldn’t be there with you to share your grief. Be thankful to have friends and relatives that want to be there for you. They may not feel your pain, but they do know you are in pain and they do understand that. This is why they are with you. If we wouldn’t have loved ones with us during our most painful time, it would be very difficult to get through it.

Knowing that those around us love us doesn’t make healing easier, but their being with us gives us strength to draw from.

I wish you the best and even though it may seem impossible, I wish you a nice Thanksgiving Day with your family and friends.
 
@Ronni if I were with you right this minute, I would give you such a big hug! I know it wouldn't change anything or help anything and you need both right now. I just want you to know how much I love you and how much I care about you. I would feel the exact same way in your shoes. After all we are birthdate twins. If you ever need to talk you can PM me anytime.

Hugs from chic.

peace bear hug.jpg
 
No words here can reduce that flame that ignites at a moments notice, unrelenting, vicious at times.
Sounds like, you will survive but with scars that will never go away.
At some point you will compartmentalize the pain, and put it in a box. It won't make it easier, and the box will open from time to time. You may need to wallow in it and allow the pain to wash over you, but, you can put that cover back on that box, and tuck it away in the deep recesses on your mind.

It will always be there, forever, but with the box closed tightly, it will allow you to continue. You have to, you must, for your children. Let them see that no matter how hard something can be, you can still come out the other side. You will get your strength back and your family will notice.
None of this will go away, but to put you back in control with the ability to put that lid back on that box, gives you strength, albeit a little at first, you will grow stronger. Never fully healed, but stronger to face the world and teach a valueable lesson to your children about coping with adversity.
 
:cry::cry:

I had my own notion of grief.
I thought it was a sad time that followed the death of someone you loved, and had to push through it to get to the other side.
But, I'm learning there is no other side, but rather, there is absorption, adjustment, then acceptance.
Grief is not something you complete, but, rather you endure.
Grief is not a task you finish and move on, but is has become an element of you.
An alteration of your being.
A new definition of self, and that sucks. :cry:
 
As others have said, Ronni, please continue to share with us whenever you need to express what you are going through. We all care and sharing can be cathartic.

And by all means feel free to grieve. We all have different ways of grieving, but I set up a little "altar" of sorts at home after my father passed away with his ring, his watch and few other items. I went there every day, thought of him and just bawled my eyes out. Even so, I used to burst out crying at the most unexpected times. I know you need to be strong for your family but you are entitled to show your feelings.
 
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squatting dog said:
Grief is not something you complete, but, rather you endure.
Grief is not a task you finish and move on, but is has become an element of you.
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True words
Never could have a good cry with my son's passing
I think that would have been a bit of a release, at least for the moment

@Ronni
It probably won't get better in the very near future
But
rightfully so

After a time, a callous forms
But
The sadness remains
 

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