Tuesday, September 5, 2017

day 5- on intrusive thoughts

it's interesting that i posted this to my personal Facebook page this morning;



i don't know, guys. i'm gonna keep doing what i'm doing, but i'm really struggling with pretty much everything. the blogging group, while SO incredibly supportive, is kind of freaking me out. and i don't know if it's sharing my own stuff with them and feeling the need to answer each comment made to my blog, or the reading (and absorbing the energies) of their 'stuff', or the having to comment on three blogs for my one share. or all of this. i've subscribed to a couple of the blogs that i found interesting so can continue the relationships there, but thinking i need to back up from sharing in the group and reading and commenting, unless something catches my eye. i need to take care of me and my mental health as much as i can in these rough months.

because i feel it sums up todays prompt nicely...

TODAY’S NUDGE: What is something you struggle with? What battles are you fighting that most people know nothing about? What’s something about you or your life that makes you feel weird, or different, or isolated?

i always call myself 'a delicate flower'.  usually to hubby, in jest (or not) when i'm in the middle of some sensitivity i'm having at the moment.  medicines hit me immediately and hard, i get all the side effects, and then some.  i'm scared of my own shadow it seems.  i pick up others energies and absorb them as they are my own.  i hurt for people i don't know, and must keep the tv off for that reason.  and i'm literally allergic to the cold, which kind of sucks, living in new england.  have i mentioned i'm sensitive?

i've always been emotionally sensitive, since i can remember, but things exploded when my son, winter-orion, and a friend drown in a river at the age of 14.  winter had lived with his father for 4 years before and i saw him every other weekend.  i got the call an hour after he went under, saying they were looking for his body.  time stood still as i found a ride to his town and the location of his accident, and, to make this story shorter, they found his body the next day.  

winter-orion, months before he died, at his confirmation

this was 19 years ago.  i've been without my oldest son for 19 years.  it's such a big part of me, this hole in my chest, that i'm surprised it's not noticeable when people meet me.  i'm good at camouflaging my wounds as most people get to be when they've lived with a disfiguring ailment.  we get good with the makeup that mask the scars, we wear clothes that hide the medical devices attached, or use an artificial limb that most don't notice as they go on their merry lives.  we wear smiles, and now some of them are real, and some of them we use to make sure others are not made uncomfortable.



the back of his headstone,
a poem written by one of his friends
the symbol on top drawn by himself (his initials with a chess pawn)


you see, when there has been a loss, and it gets to be more than a few months after said loss, people are counting on you to get your act together.  to come back to them and be 'normal' again.  but what is normal after this?  each day is a day longer that i have not seen my child alive.  each year is a year that i don't know what he might have been doing with his life.  he wasn't awarded a year 15, a year 21, a year 30.  his younger brothers and sister are now older than he was at his oldest.  his niece and nephew will be his 'forever age' in just a few years.  

and the triggers are everywhere.  i am constantly on guard for the sound of helicopters, as they were used to search for my son and his friend.  my heart races when i even think i hear one.  september rolls around and i am in a stew about the coming months of winter weather.   the memories of being a pregnant teen, laboring and giving birth on a thanksgiving evening.  the song 'walking in a winter wonderland' used to make me cry and now pisses me off as it's used constantly from october (it seems to be getting earlier these days) until the stores decide to knock off the christmas tunes.  songs from metallica remind me of his wake, of his life, of his death, and make me tear up.  skateboarders make me sad and proud to have been a skateboard mom.  each time we have a family gathering with 'all' our kids there is a gaping hole.


what used to be is now a memory

so, yes, i'm isolated by my fears and my grief.  i won't get over that.  how could i?  why would i want to 'get over' his death?  even at 19 years.    i'm doing much better than i was in the beginning, of course, and i continue to work at life in my own way, in my own time.  but, the not thinking about winter during these times, the not tearing up at the thought of him?  i doubt that will ever happen.  until i see winter at heavens gate.



this is a month long blog challenge created by my dear artist friend, effy wild.  i am using her prompts, but will state if a topic is my own.  i hope this will get me writing about what makes me tick and better my life while getting things out in the open and off my chest.


until later,
jenny

17 comments:

  1. Oh, my love. I'm so sorry for your loss, and I applaud you on having good boundaries and knowing when to step back. <3

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    1. thanks, hon. i appreciate you. thanks for always having a safe place. i wish i could feel 'safe enough' to use it!

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  2. I'm so sorry for your loss. Much love and good thoughts for you. <3

    I'm finding the blogs hard to read too sometimes. I've decided to proceed with humour on mine because it's easier, and safer.

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  3. You communicate it perfectly. I've heard the same words so often from my husband who lost his only son - the forever age, the what would his life be now, the family gatherings when all his nieces and nephews are there, but Chad is missing. We don't approach death and grieving in this country very well, there is still no word for a parent who has lost a child. We are broken, but we carry on. <3 Sending you good energy.

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    1. thank you, and i'm sorry you live in a home missing a child as well. it's not a fun club to be in

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  4. I am so sorry this event shaped your life, losing a child is terrible. You don't have to "get over it", you will forever be his Mom.
    (PS: don't pressure yourself about the blogalong).

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    1. thanks for reading, i appreciate your words.

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  5. Sending so much love your way.....grief is so personal and there is no one way to do it "right"......I too am sensitive and am constantly finding new tools and ways to continue interacting in a world that often overwhelms....thanks for being on this journey and sharing.

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    1. thank you for your kind words. i'll continue to blog along, probably won't be posting them to the group too often though. even though everyone is beautifully supportive there. i appreciate your comments, thanks for taking the time.

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  6. I am also too sensitive and have to use tools to help with my sensitivity and anxiety. My heart goes out to you for what you are going through and have been for all those years. I hope you continue to share dear and I will follow your blog. Much Love. Jean

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    1. thanks for reading and taking the time to comment. your words mean a lot. hugs

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  7. I am so sorry for your loss, Jenny. I can't imagine that this is something you will ever be over. I understand your need to step back from the blog along and good for you in recognizing it as well. Sending so much love to you.

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    1. thank you for reading and your caring words.

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  8. thank you ... thank you for these words ... as you know, our son died just over three weeks ago ...

    and I stand as equal witness to everyone else processing this ( my husband, my other children ( almost all adults ... age 17 -33) ) and participant ... and I want something normal in my life ... anything ... and nothing is normal and even separate from this, so much is shifting ... and here we are just trying to hold on.

    and I sit in my studio, surrounded my paintings I've begun, I receive the invite to the facebook for a business class I signed up for months ago, and I wonder ... what the heck am I supposed to do with this business right now? Everything has changed.

    I've stepped out of the blogging group ... and away from blogging ... I thought I was ready but I'm not ... and that's ok.

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    1. it's quite a road we journey. the beginning is chaos. you're right, nothing is normal right now. you're finding your own new normal. and i'm sending you love.

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  9. So much love to you, lovely girl. And so so sorry for your loss.

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