I don't cry a whole lot anymore. Once every day or two I'll get teary eyed for some reason or another. Yesterday it was walking around Lambertville seeing so many happy families and wondering about what could have been. Finally a tiny infant passed by me in the arms of a smiling dad and I actually gasped outloud. Longing. Or sometimes at work when I'm on a conference call with my boss and I can hear his young son cooing in the background, I get teary eyed. There are some good things about being alone in my office for these calls. Beyond damp eyes, though, I haven't lost it much lately, haven't wailed.
Instead of tears I mostly feel grief as a second resident of my body. Grief has chosen to come and live with me, and apparently the guest room wasn't good enough. It got so carried away with the desire for closeness that it's come inside my body, and I have no choice but to carry it around with me. It's lodged in the middle of my chest. It aches. I feel it underneath my breasts and down to my stomach. It aches. It feels like it's settled in for the long haul. It aches. I wonder if I'll wake up some morning and find that I have my body to myself again. Maybe grief will go away on vacation for a while and return only for visits. Until then it just aches.
It's much like having a cold. I'm sick, but not so sick that I can't get up and go about my day. People who ask how I'm doing seem surprised if I don't immediately express pure health and contentedness. Perhaps to them it doesn't seem like I feel all that bad. Or they just don't want to talk about it since it might be contagious. Maybe they think I'm a whiner if I mention that grief is crowding me out of my own body. But I'm sick enough that the joy of life is missing, and I'm just trying to make it through every day. There are some good times but mostly it just aches.
I want to tell them
9 years ago
Grief is indeed physical. I hate that people make so many assumptions, like if we're out and (barely) functioning in the world we must be 'better'. I could have written this myself, it all is so familiar. xoxo
ReplyDeleteOh my God, your post actually brought tears to my eyes. Your description of grief, that unwelcome guest that invades even your most carefree moments, was perfect. I hate it, I hate every last stinking minute of being a bereaved mother. I know the ache oh so well, most days I just keep trying to stuff it down, fill the void, numb the pain enough to carry on with life before it carries on without me. Hugs to you and thank you for that beautiful post.
ReplyDeleteYes, the grief can sneak up on you, just when you think it might have taken a vacation. Seeing and hearing those babies are almost always triggers. I don't cry as much anymore either, but I know the tears are always there. Ready to spill out at a moments notice.
ReplyDeleteLove to you Molly.
the idea of grief residing in your solar plexus is perfect. it does feel like a parasite or something, in your being, draining your energy...sometimes i think i'm just all cried out, and when i tear up, my body has an almost muscular memory of those early days of sobbing...love to you, molly, beautiful post.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure many of us can relate to this feeling. And there is real physical pain to this grief. It feels like a heavy coat you want to take off, but can't. I am hopeful that one day our lightness will return.
ReplyDeleteThe comparison to a cold is such a good one, and gets right at how grief makes it harder (but not impossible) to do just about everything. Some days I feel like I'm moving through molasses. Wishing you more good times.
ReplyDeletethe grief lives in my body as well. i feel the ache constantly. its this dull background noise that never seems to turn off. i wish i couldn't say i know how you feel but unfortunately i do.
ReplyDeletethinking of you molly xoxo
Grief lives in me too. Most of the time it's presence is quite and not too bother-some but sometimes it just jumps out and gets me. I was walking in a square in Cologne on the easter w/end and a man was walking in front of me with his new-born baby in a Baby Bjorn. I started crying just like that. I sobbed on my husband's shoulder right there in the middle of the square with no regard for other people at all. I remembered when I walked with my son in his Baby Bjorn and I was jealous of that man. I hope he realises how truly special his child is.
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