My friends are seeing their first born children graduate from high school this month. They are preparing to take these children to college sometime this summer, and they are, to a one, filled with trepidation, with the bittersweet grief and certainty that in some respects, it's the end. You know where this is going. For a moment this morning, as my writing percolated in my head, as it does, the wonderful phrase what fresh hell is this? flitted through, a cloud, a fish, the slipstream. We are going to a graduation party this afternoon for the oldest child of one of my dearest friends. Sophie would have graduated from high school last May, so this May is the year that the younger children of my friends pass her by. Again. Despite the many years and all the experience under the proverbial belt, despite the strength, thickened even under the armor imposed upon me by circumstance, the return of pain, the pinprick of it (the fish, the clouds, the slipstream) takes my breath away. If I hold it, it grows, so I give it a nod and admire its shimmer, watch it go.
Yes, don't hold this pain. Let it flow right on through, knowing it will return again and again, and you will be as supple as the wind, allowing it, I suppose there is not much choice. I am so sorry you have to feel these things but I am glad that you share them rather than try to swallow them whole. My love to you.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth, I see you and I send you so much love, and have so much admiration for the mother and the woman that you are.
ReplyDeleteYepperdo.
ReplyDeleteMy ex-mother-in-law's eldest child was severely developmentally delayed-- probably from a botched forceps delivery. She said she never wept at her other children's milestones. Only for her child who never got there.
ReplyDeleteIt's true isn't it. That pinch, that pain. I still get it from time to time. No graduation, no university, no job, no boyfriend, no husband or babies.
ReplyDeleteWe tried to take her horseback riding today, she wouldn't get out of the car. So now horseback riding is gone. She fell off a horse last fall, rode a horse this spring that spooked easily. She's done.
We took her to the zoo. I rode with her on the train there because she loves trains. The train started off and she screamed and cried until the train returned. I held her tight, whispered to her that she was safe, over and over and over again. She was inconsolable, over what I have no idea. Just pure fear.
Then the elephant became her focus, must see the elephant, our famous elephant Lucy. We found her, in a field, down past the compost pile. Apparently Lucy goes for walks everyday and spends hours in the field everyday. Katie waved for the elephant to come closer and Lucy was not interested.
It was a long, tiring day which Katie didn't really enjoy all that much. Which makes me sad because truly I only want my children to be happy and if they aren't, well, what kind of mother am I?
That last sentence is a powerful one. Sometimes grief can feel as though I am under siege, but when I acknowledge it and let it happen, I can remember Kerry without feeling that pure pain.
ReplyDeleteYou've said all that can be said, I think. Grief is not something you experience and let go and never experience again, is it?
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing that. I like the idea that it's something we can let go of, for the moment. xo
ReplyDeleteIt is enough to drive a person mad, and no one would blame you. I'm glad you're able to let it slip into the stream, even knowing that grief is never truly gone.
ReplyDeleteThis happens to me, too; the pain of what is/isn't/could have been/can't be. I am so sorry that you suffer it afresh; please know that you are not alone.
ReplyDeleteI can't hardly imagine, but through your words I can come close. For what it is worth, I hear you too, and share in your sorrow. Unfair, the only word I can come up with.
ReplyDeleteSo, yes, catch and release seems the only way to stay sane.
Hugs to you and to Sophie.