Some days I feel like a nonperson. Like I just take up space in the universe, but no one really pays attention to me. Which is ironic, because I am the single person capable of doing anything for the boys. I mean, if I'm gone, and the boys are home with Kevin, the moment I walk in, it's, "Mama! Can I have a glass of water? Please? I'm thirsty. Will you get me something to drink?"
It's like Kevin has starved them, denied them hydration, refused them bathroom privileges, and never ever changed a diaper. All of which is ridiculous, of course.
Other than my superpowers to "get people stuff," I seem to be pretty useless. I say, "Please clean your crayons off the table, it's time to eat," and the sound vibrations disappear into the ether. I say, "Please stop dancing and twirling in the aisles; you are going to run into someone," and the words are mysteriously transformed into magical dance music that makes four year olds unable to control their feet.
I say, "Don't forget to take Mallory her flowers," and my voice is so heavy, it weighs the bouquet down to the counter, and makes it impossible to pick up and carry to the concert.
Logically, I know it's perception. And if I had an appointment with my therapist tomorrow, we would talk through this, I would cry, and we would get back to the fact that my cheerleader, the one person who constantly told me the good about myself, is gone.
So yeah. Maybe I'm supposed to be moving on. Maybe I'm not supposed to still be writing about grief. Maybe I'm annoying and whiny. So be it.
The truth is, it's been insanely difficult to write everyday this month without writing about grief. And I can't avoid it today. Today is one of those days we would have talked through all of these things and the things in her day, and the words really would have disappeared into the ether. They would have lifted from us and floated away together, leaving us to comfort each other, fortify each other, and laugh with each other.
Surely not everyone has that person in their life. What I want to know is this: how do they manage without it?
Oh God, I feel like this every day too. Seriously. Kids, husband, in-laws, friends, my parents, all of them... There are days that I just want to scream, "I am here. Doesn't anyone care?
ReplyDeleteThing is, I am one of those people who's never had a "person", their person. It used to be my mom but that relationship evolved (or maybe it's devolved) when I pissed her off by not moving back to KS on her timeline. Usually, I say it's my husband but there are many days where I wonder if I should get a real therapist instead of forcing my husband into that role. So as far as how a person manages without that -- one day at a time with occasional moments wondering if medication would be helpful.
You matter to me... I do think of you daily.
-Abby
I think you try to internalize the things that your person would say to you - really try to believe that they are true. They must be true, because your person would not have lied.
ReplyDeleteWe hear you. Especially when you sing. We hear you.
I have wondered the same thing myself. Thanks for putting words to it for me. And you have great friends to be answering this.
ReplyDeleteYou feel visible in all the ways you don't want to feel visible.
ReplyDeleteSusan made you feel seen and heard in all the ways you want to feel seen and heard.
She wrote about losing her hair, and wearing a scarf only to protect the sensibilities of children. Amongst adults, as you already know, she refused to swelter in the heat, or to behave as if her illness were shameful. There may be times that you cover your loss, and times when you let it show.
I'm not sure if it's something to manage, so much as something you're managing. Writing, sewing, parenting, planning, dreaming. You're living your life. I believe Susan would be incredibly proud.
May God, from whom nothing is hidden, bless you, comfort you, strengthen you, and give you the peace that passes all understanding, that you may have the assurance of His love, always.
Thank you. This is my life right now, but I never could have written this even half as well as you. It's amazing how such a "nonperson" has such a strong voice in my life and for that I must thank you again. One day, I will take you out for pie.
ReplyDeleteI miss Susan, and I didn't even know her. I came across her blog shortly after the birth of my first son a bit over three years ago. We shared a name, we were both academics, and now I have two toddler boys. She was my role model of what a mother should be. I grieve for her, and I didn't even know her.
ReplyDeleteYou were her best friend. Of course, you grieve for her. I cannot imagine your grief, as I have never had that "person". You were so lucky to have had that "person" for so many years! While I don't envy your grief, I am a bit envious (if that makes any sense at all).
I deal with it much like Abby. And yup, there seems to be a case of "selective hearing" circulating amongst young boys these days :)
Please don't stop writing about your grief. I think that subconsciously I hope that you will write about her or mention her every time I come to your blog.
ReplyDeleteYou're allowed to write about your grief. Or anything you want. This is your space. I honestly can't imagine losing my person. I just can't. Even when we talk about nothing it's still the best nothing ever. I'm so very sorry that you lost yours.
ReplyDeleteI know it's not the same, but you can write it all here for us. We'll all listen and try and help. I know I will.
Also...You are amazing. Please to be remembering.
PS I don't know if you'll be doing a Thanksgiving-related post, so just in case, I'll send my good wishes, now. Take good care.
ReplyDeleteMy mother once told me about what it felt like to "disappear"... she swore that once women hit a certain age, people stopped looking at them and paying proper attention to them. I think what she meant was that she felt as though she was losing her looks, due to age... But, of course, I told her how silly that sounded, because to me, she will always be Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteNow that I'm a mum, myself, and getting older, I completely understand what she was talking about. Truthfully, sometimes I stand in the middle of my kitchen and shout to the family in general, "HELLO, CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME???!!" They all laugh, thus proving that I haven't completely evaporated, but their mirth doesn't make me feel better, unfortunately.
I think kids and husbands condition themselves to tune us out when they want to-- kind of like how we mums eventually learn to tune out the sound of hours and hours of Sesame Street, which becomes the background noise of our children's first years of life. It's bizarre, isn't it? Not to mention soul-destroying.
And, of course... it sure doesn't help at all that Your Person isn't hear to talk to you. But, I'll bet she still hears you, if that helps even a little bit! I'm with Aimee, who says that she subconsciously hopes you'll talk about Susan in your blog posts. A wise person once said that people we love never die, as long as we remember them. You help to keep Susan's memory alive, every time you mention her. And every time you mention her, my heart goes out to you.
Happy Thanksgiving, Marty.
xoxo CGF