I'm not sure where to start. Since Friday, I have felt physically ill with grief. So many others have spoken so eloquently about the heroes of 12/14, about the tragic loss of innocent children, not to mention gun control and the state of mental health care in our country. I have avoided much of it, I have to admit. The past week has been, to put it mildly, a challenge for me, and it is impossible for me to view the events of 12/14 without seeing them through the distorted lens of my own grief journey and what I'm going through right now.
For a while after JP died, I was too consumed by my own devastation to process anyone else's sorrow, with the possible exception of my fellow young widows and widowers. But recently I have noticed that the losses of others affect me in a much more profound way than I could have ever predicted. I still don't know how to express this (there is something so unique about every person's situation, and I honestly can't even remember what, if anything, made much of a difference when I was early in the process). What I do know is that the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary has left me feeling absolutely crushed. Losing a child must be the only thing worse than being widowed at a young age (not to mention being widowed suddenly, and with a baby). And as an only parent, I can't even let myself think about what would become of me if I were to lose Max. Just the thought of it makes my throat close, chest constrict, and hands go weak.
When I learned about the shooting, I was sitting on my parents' couch in Florida looking for a flight back to Chicago for that afternoon, cutting my trip short by 3 days. I had arrived on Wednesday, and from the minute I decided not to turn around on the jetway at Midway (mostly because I was afraid they would think I was a terrorist), I was regretting my decision to come down to the Sunshine State. Not just because it was cold and rainy, and there was no cable or internet, and I had a million things I could have been doing in Chicago. And not just because being there brought back memories of recent trips - for Christmas in 2010, when I was in the early stages of pregnancy, and this past spring/summer right after JP died and I sold the condo. And not just because I didn't want to be there for the 15th, the 10-month "sadiversary." It was a combination of all of that and a million other things as well. I was hoping to get some good bonding time with Max, who is extremely attached to my parents, and without the option of doing things outside, that was just not going to happen. I had gone down hoping to clear my mind, detox, and give myself some distance from things. Instead, I was worrying about things that I couldn't take care of there (like yet another issue with the estate lawyer...)
Oh and it didn't help that at the Orlando airport I ended up having a conversation with a woman who turned out to be a widow (her husband died in February of 2011) and was originally from Springfield, MA, right near where I grew up. When I told her that I was also a widow, she gave me a look I am so accustomed to by now, the pitying 'WHAT? But you're so young!!!' look, and then asked me if I go to bereavement counseling. When I replied, "no, but I do Crossfit, and working out is the best therapy for me," she looked at me like I was crazy pants, and told me that the holiday season would break me if I didn't go to counseling. Wow, thanks.
So there I was, having been scolded about my choice of "therapy," feeling like a bit of a failure as a mom, and rushing headlong into holiday season and another month closer to the one-year mark. No wonder I wanted to hightail it back to Chicago, where at least cold and dreary weather is expected and I had no shortage of projects to help me "shark" - or stay in constant motion to avoid thinking too much.
And then I had a vivid dream about JP. It was only the 3rd or 4th I have had. In the dream, I was working on some sort of project in a house, and was with a bunch of couples. Suddenly, the men started getting sick and dying. I was running around warning people - to save those who hadn't been infected or to allow couples to say goodbye (an opportunity we never had). I went into a room and the guy was working on the closet, and he turned around, and it was JP. My legs gave out, and he sat on the floor with me and hugged me. He was smaller than he had been in real life, less broad shoulders and chest. He was giving me this look - sort of a squint, sideways look, with a hint of a smirk, like "whaaaat are you up to?" Anyone who knew him would know the look. And he said to me, "it's going to be ok, and whatever you've done, it's ok." I woke myself up sobbing, and that continued for a long time. The next night, I didn't want to go back to sleep. I still kind of don't.
I didn't think too much about the shootings on the trip back to Chicago. I was too busy managing Max. He was an absolute gem on the flight. The parents of the 15 month old boy sharing a row with us were pretty vocal in expressing how jealous they were of Max's disposition. I can't remember if I shared my situation with them, but I do know that when they announced how exhausted they were from the flight with their kid, I wanted to smack them. They were traveling with the guy's parents, so there were 4 of them to one baby. And honestly, he wasn't even that wild.
Anyway, once I was in the car, I turned on the news. And then to give myself a break, I flipped to a music station. A Linkin Park song came on - Iridescent. Here are the lyrics:
You were standing in the
wake of devastation
And you were waiting on
the edge of the unknown
And with the cataclysm
raining down
Insides crying, "Save me now"
You were there,
impossibly alone
Do you feel cold and
lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but
failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness
and frustration
And let it go. Let it go
And in a burst of light
that blinded every angel
As if the sky had blown
the heavens into stars
You felt the gravity of
tempered grace
Falling into empty space
No one there to catch
you in their arms
Do you feel cold and
lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but
failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness
and frustration
And let it go. Let it go
Do you feel cold and
lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but
failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness
and frustration
And let it go. Let it go
Oh my god. I mean, this song is basically my anthem now.
When I got home, I fed and bathed Max, we watched a little bit of Rudolph, and when I went to bed I brought him into my room because I needed to be close to him. It would have been sweet, had he not been doing sleep acrobatics. I woke up to see him fast asleep in down dog, or with his legs over my face, flopping all over.
The next day, the 15th, was the 10-month mark. I spent most of the day in a haze. I was glad to be home with Max, and he didn't seem to mind my chaotic project-tackling. I cut up a bunch of shirts for the memory quilt, which was no easy task. I went through some boxes. I even dug through a bag of sympathy cards trying to find a poem that had stood out to me, to share with a friend whose father passed away suddenly recently.
Despite everything, I have been trying to find the spots of light in the darkness I feel has been consuming me over the past few days. Focusing so much on Max has been the big one. He is so entertaining, so bright, and it's so fun seeing him talking and pointing things out. Being on our own made me feel a little more confident that when I'm working and my parents aren't living with us, we'll be just fine. We make a pretty good team, not to mention a ridiculously good looking one.
I don't expect to feel better soon. I know the whole holiday season is going to be incredibly difficult. I will have to dig deep to pretend to share in the joy of the season for Max's sake, but I will do it. I will do my best to shield him from the shadow of my own grief and that of our whole nation in the wake of this devastating event. I'm not going to forget, but since he is too young to understand some things, but old enough to understand others, I have to make the choice to work on instilling the magic of the season in my little guy.
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