07 Nov When it feels like everything is unraveling…

November 2022

“Real grief is not healed by time… if time does anything, it deepens our grief.

The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who ‘our special person’ was for us, and the more intimately we experience what their love meant for us.

Real, deep love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious, and so present that we take it for granted.

Therefore, it is only in retrospect – or better, in memory – that we fully realize its power and depth.

Yes, indeed, love often makes itself even more visible in pain.”

Henri Nouwen

At times it feels that life is spiralling out of control – instead of the grief fog clearing, it seems to be getting thicker; the weight of sorrow heavier. Time simply isn’t a healer. In my last blog I wrote that the fog was lifting – but it’s been back, thicker than ever.

The ever changing anomalies of grief!!

It’s four years since Ben died and the missing hurts more than ever – even on a good day. I know I’m probably not doing myself any favours by talking about it all the time. But I can’t reiterate enough how devastatingly horrific the loss of a child is – for the whole family – and how impossible it must be for anyone not living it to understand. We miss our darling boy more as time goes by – not less…

“You don’t just lose someone once – you lose them every day.”

– Donna Ashworth

Grief is all consuming and I accept we can’t be easy company – it’s not surprising people are quietly slipping out of our lives.

I hate that grief has changed me so much. I try to fight it – to get the old me back but I can’t. Part of me died with Ben and the part that’s left is battered, broken and messy. I hate that I can feel fairly normal one day then fall headlong into the depths of darkness the next.

Some say they don’t want grief to define them – I get that, but don’t know how to stop it. The person I am now – whether I like it or not – is without doubt defined by the fact that Ben died. Sorrow pervades every aspect of my life – even when I’m happy.

…the juxtaposition of trying to manage the unmanageable!!

Here’s an example – I could be having an okay day, when out of nowhere icy fronds of sadness creep in. They grip my heart. I freeze. The world turns grey. I can only describe it as suddenly being hit by an excruciating, overwhelming ache. I remember. My boy is gone. I’m never going to see him again. My insides recoil and I just want to curl up in a ball.

This can even happen mid conversation with a stranger… my eyes tear-up, the blood rushes to my head and my mind goes blank. I’m powerless to do anything about it. I try to redirect my thoughts, to refocus, to pull myself together. It’s a constant battle and it’s exhausting. I hope people don’t notice but I think they probably do!!

I feel like I should explain – tell them that my boy died. But I don’t – it’s not fair to burden them with my pain.

There is a wild unpredictable side to grief that I’m simply ill equipped to control.

Yet despite all this sadness and brokenness I am so incredibly thankful and honoured to be Ben’s mum. It makes me smile. I’m thankful for every minute we had with him. Our youngest child – the one we never expected to have. He was simply awesome. A beautiful precious unexpected gift. I still find it hard to believe he was actually ours. I used to tell him that! He was so so loved. He is still so loved. And thank God he knew how loved he was.

But all the love and thankfulness in the world couldn’t keep him here and doesn’t stop me falling headlong into that dark miserable pit – more often than I would like. And I’m frustrated that after four years I still haven’t mastered a plan to get myself out. In fact sometimes I just want to stay there because in a strange kind of way the pain has become familiar and is weirdly comforting.

‘Sometimes we don’t want to heal because the pain is the last link to what we’ve lost’
JMStorm

I wonder if this is what depression is?

So I keep writing because it helps to look back and see the highs and lows; the valleys, the hills; the sadness and the joys (yes there are so many joys but often I’m too sad to fully appreciate them). But then I worry and panic that some might think I’m being too self indulgent or attention seeking. That maybe it’s inappropriate to publicly share what others keep private!

Then I read recently that…

“approaching sorrow requires enormous physic strength for us to tolerate the images, emotions, memories, and dreams that arise in times of grief.”

⁃ Francis Weller (The Wild Edge of Sorrow)

The author suggests that ‘writing, drawing, meditation, prayer, walking, dance or anything that works for us can hold us steady in difficult times’.

So I write!!

October is a brutal month – Ben’s death date is just wrong and signals the countdown to another Christmas and new year without him.

I’ve just emerged from my latest valley experience. It lasted for three long miserable weeks. I almost lost the will to live because living was too hard. Everything piled up – pebbles became boulders.The weight was simply intolerable. I knew God was in my hole with me, I knew he wasn’t judging and only wanted to comfort but I couldn’t feel a thing. I was blank. Empty.

I tried listening to a sermon on ‘does joy die in sorrow’ and felt worse – the message was that if I wasn’t feeling joy I was doing something wrong!! I wanted to scream – there are some situations you simply cannot rejoice your way out of!!

Failure. Guilt. Shame.

I felt myself shutting down. I cried about everything from missing Ben to the horrors I saw in the news. I cried for me, for my family, for everyone. Jealousy crept in. I nurtured bad thoughts (never a good idea!) I despised the unfairness of a world filled with tragedy and resented those who presented the picture perfect image. I questioned… I doubted. I tried to make sense of things that simply don’t. I indulged self pity!

I felt slightly better with people yet didn’t actually want to see anyone. I went through the motions of living but hardly spoke. My thoughts took me to places I didn’t want to go. The only thing that helped was work – the structure gives me purpose.

It took a change of scenery and the company of wonderful friends to break the cycle. We went off in our camper vans to the mountains for a few days.

A peace that I hadn’t felt at home washed over me – the healing power of nature and friendship. God’s incredible gifts to us all – too often taken for granted. The agony remains but is more manageable. The fog cleared – for the moment – and the storm passed.

Psalm 23:1-4 – paraphrased by me…

‘The Lord is my shepherd, he knows exactly what I need when I need it.

He took me to green pastures.

He led me beside still waters.

He restored my soul.

When I was walking through the darkest valley – he was in there with me
(even when I couldn’t feel him); comforting and protecting me…’

Four years of living with grief and I’m no closer to accepting this unacceptable loss. I know I speak for Paul and the rest of the family when I say…

we see Ben everywhere and in everything. We still find it hard to believe that he’s gone. We want him here so badly. We miss everything about him. We’re desperate to talk to him, to hug him, to hear his voice – to just be with him. The shock is as brutal as the day it happened. The day he left imprinted on our minds and hearts forever. We relive it over and over again…

I guess as time passes the storms will get smaller and happen less often. I’m so thankful God hasn’t given up on me – hasn’t slipped quietly out of my life and doesn’t have unrealistic expectations. He loves me weird!!

He doesn’t take the pain away and I don’t want him to – it’s too connected to Ben. He lets me be sad. It’s been said many times ‘the more you love, the more you hurt’.

Blog credit: Ruth McDonald 2022

Toby Mac’s son Truett died October 2019 aged 21. Have a listen to this beautiful song just released this year – for all those grieving…

He writes… “This song is so special to me as my daughter and I got to write and record it together from a season of grief,” TobyMac

“Everything About You”

When the whole room's staring at you
You can't run from the shadows
And the light can't seem to get through
When your soul has no window
When all you want's to fly away
To spread your wings and feel okay
Just make it through another day, without you

I miss everything about you
I just miss being around you
Out of sight, out of mind
Don't add up, not this time
It's the cold truth
I miss everything

When the grey falls out of the sky
And then lands on your shoulders
And when a nightmare walks through your door
You live it over and over

You want the truth to be a lie
To say hello, no sad goodbyes
You're gone, I'm here
My world is dry without you

I miss everything about you
I just miss being around you
Out of sight, out of mind
Don't add up, not this time
It's the cold truth
I miss everything

I miss everything

The way you smile, the way you talk
The times we laughed, the times we fought
The things I said, the times you called
Sometimes I feel it's all my fault

I can hear you in my head
Things you said still echoing
The only way you loved was hard
And I'm left driving your old car

I miss everything about you
I just miss being around you
Out of sight, out of mind
Don't add up, not this time
It's the cold, cold truth
I miss everything

When the whole room's starin' at you
You can't run from the shadows
And the light can't seem to get through
When your soul has no window

When all you want's to fly away
To spread your wings and feel okay
Just make it through another day
Without you

I miss everything about you
I just miss being around you

Outta sight, outta mind
Don't add up, not this time
It's the cold truth
I miss everything

⁃ Song by Marlee and TobyMac