Time

For several days now I have had an empty, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's the kind of feeling you get when you are an hour away from home and realize you left the stove on. It's a lurch of recognition followed by a horrible, sinking feeling. I believe I have had this feeling continually since the moment I learned about Colby's passing, but now, six weeks later, as the shock begins to wear off, I am just now aware it is there.

The medical people I talk to say the physical reactions of grief can include dry mouth, shortness of breath, trouble swallowing and sleeping, panic attacks, repetitive motions, and inflammation throughout the body. In past weeks I have experienced it all. They also tell me that medical studies show that the death of a child is the most intense form of grief there is, and that a parent never really gets over the loss, but instead somehow learns to live with the passing of his or her child. Also, feelings of guilt can be strong and because of the intensity of the emotions, irrational decisions are often made. Again, I have experienced, and continue to experience, all of that.

Looking at all of that in black and white I realize I expect way too much of myself way too soon. I get mad at myself when I can't function in group settings, when I cry in public, when I take two hours to get up and out of the house, when I read the same page over and over and none of it makes any sense. The medical studies validate both my physical and my mental distress and show me that it is okay to take a year or more to process Colby's passing. Members of my online grief support group agree but go one step more. Many say, for them, it is between year two and three when they start to feel as if they can cope with the loss, and with life. So I'll take each day as it comes, be glad for what I can get done, and let the rest go. Survival comes in many forms and beginning tomorrow, this will be mine.