I feel as though I need to process my thoughts around these different stages of grieving. I feel that is the only way for me to grasp the reality of where I stand, how far I have truly come in my process of healing.
Shock. I remember getting the call very early that Tuesday morning. I can remember the pause in my sister-in-law's voice between saying my name and telling me what had happened. I remember doing the same to my own sister who was the first person I called. I remember feeling like I wanted to cry but nothing would come out. Inside, it was like the waves of the ocean crashing up against the rocks. I remember going into my son's room and lying on the floor. I wanted to be with him, but I didn't want to wake him. I remember talking to my husband. I thought that his released spirit would be so new and perhaps confused, but I was hoping that it would have come straight to me and my son and I wanted him to know how much we loved him.
I remember later that day, my family started to trickle in. My brother was the first to arrive. Followed shortly by my parents. My sister arrived that night. I remember how they all slept in my small living room... two on the couch, one on the chair, one on the floor. I remember my mother-in-law coming to the apartment to talk about the autopsy report and the funeral arrangements. Because I was alone with my son until mid-morning when my family began arriving, I never went to the place where it happened. I didn't have to talk to the police or the coroner or whomever else needs to be spoken to when someone dies. His parents did all of that.
I remember going to see my therapist the next day and all I wanted to do was to talk about him and remember him. She had her own agenda that I didn't full appreciate until much later. Her focus was on me and making sure I took no blame in the choice that my husband made. It was such a difficult and confusing session for me because I thought that could wait. I just wanted to think about him.
I remember arriving at my husband's hometown a couple of days before the funeral. How weird it was to be there. That was him, his home. Not mine. I remember feeling that piece missing with agony.
I remember out of town friends arriving and how we all stayed together in the house the night before the funeral. I remember the stories, the tears, and even the laughter as we shared our own stories of him. I remember staying up late writing that night and waking with dread as for what that day brought.
I remember arriving at the funeral home very early that morning with my husband's best friend from high school, the best man in our wedding. I remember seeing my husband for the first time. The lifeless body of what was once the man that I had known and loved for almost half of my life. I remember reading a letter that I had written just for him out loud to him and then placing it inside of his favorite suit, above his heart. I remember placing some photos, a book, and the blanket that we brought our son home in from the hospital all with him. I remember thinking how it didn't look like him. I remember thinking to myself how it is just a body and that his spirit is alive and how I truly believed that and how shocked I was that I did.
I remember how much it had rained that week. I remember how on the day of the funeral it was sunny and beautiful. I remember crying throughout that week and having moments during the funeral. I remember my best friend looking after my son the entire time. I remember the little suit that my son wore. I remember my son walking up the casket and the silence that it created as I think every one's heart in the room sank just a bit deeper. I remember the pastor's beautiful words as she did not deny the cause of death, but embraced it in a dignified way. I remember my own words as I gave the eulogy. I remember how nervous I was in not being able make it through all that I had wanted to say. I remember how something turned on inside of me that allowed me to make it through, but how that something shut down the emotional side of me. I remember feeling numb after that day. Shock.
I remember all of those things... but in a fog. I remember slowly starting to come out of that numb state. I was able to cry again. But I never cried like I would have imagined myself crying under the circumstances. To an extent, there is still an element of shock that lingers. I believe that is partly due to how difficult it is comprehend all that had happened.
However, the shock did not disable me. I couldn't let it. My parents stayed with me for about two weeks after the funeral and then I was on my own. Literally. I had decided to stay in NYC where I had no family and no friends that would just drop by to keep me company or to lend a hand. I had work, day care for my son, and my therapist. So although I may have been in a some form of shock, the reality of my new life didn't wait. And I did my best to climb aboard. I didn't want to be left behind in despair and desperation. There was not a single day that I didn't get out of bed. I had a 20 month year old to take care of. He was a constant reminder of all that is beautiful and wonderful in both my husband and in life. And for him I will always be grateful.
Shocked yes. But never in denial...
Shock. I remember getting the call very early that Tuesday morning. I can remember the pause in my sister-in-law's voice between saying my name and telling me what had happened. I remember doing the same to my own sister who was the first person I called. I remember feeling like I wanted to cry but nothing would come out. Inside, it was like the waves of the ocean crashing up against the rocks. I remember going into my son's room and lying on the floor. I wanted to be with him, but I didn't want to wake him. I remember talking to my husband. I thought that his released spirit would be so new and perhaps confused, but I was hoping that it would have come straight to me and my son and I wanted him to know how much we loved him.
I remember later that day, my family started to trickle in. My brother was the first to arrive. Followed shortly by my parents. My sister arrived that night. I remember how they all slept in my small living room... two on the couch, one on the chair, one on the floor. I remember my mother-in-law coming to the apartment to talk about the autopsy report and the funeral arrangements. Because I was alone with my son until mid-morning when my family began arriving, I never went to the place where it happened. I didn't have to talk to the police or the coroner or whomever else needs to be spoken to when someone dies. His parents did all of that.
I remember going to see my therapist the next day and all I wanted to do was to talk about him and remember him. She had her own agenda that I didn't full appreciate until much later. Her focus was on me and making sure I took no blame in the choice that my husband made. It was such a difficult and confusing session for me because I thought that could wait. I just wanted to think about him.
I remember arriving at my husband's hometown a couple of days before the funeral. How weird it was to be there. That was him, his home. Not mine. I remember feeling that piece missing with agony.
I remember out of town friends arriving and how we all stayed together in the house the night before the funeral. I remember the stories, the tears, and even the laughter as we shared our own stories of him. I remember staying up late writing that night and waking with dread as for what that day brought.
I remember arriving at the funeral home very early that morning with my husband's best friend from high school, the best man in our wedding. I remember seeing my husband for the first time. The lifeless body of what was once the man that I had known and loved for almost half of my life. I remember reading a letter that I had written just for him out loud to him and then placing it inside of his favorite suit, above his heart. I remember placing some photos, a book, and the blanket that we brought our son home in from the hospital all with him. I remember thinking how it didn't look like him. I remember thinking to myself how it is just a body and that his spirit is alive and how I truly believed that and how shocked I was that I did.
I remember how much it had rained that week. I remember how on the day of the funeral it was sunny and beautiful. I remember crying throughout that week and having moments during the funeral. I remember my best friend looking after my son the entire time. I remember the little suit that my son wore. I remember my son walking up the casket and the silence that it created as I think every one's heart in the room sank just a bit deeper. I remember the pastor's beautiful words as she did not deny the cause of death, but embraced it in a dignified way. I remember my own words as I gave the eulogy. I remember how nervous I was in not being able make it through all that I had wanted to say. I remember how something turned on inside of me that allowed me to make it through, but how that something shut down the emotional side of me. I remember feeling numb after that day. Shock.
I remember all of those things... but in a fog. I remember slowly starting to come out of that numb state. I was able to cry again. But I never cried like I would have imagined myself crying under the circumstances. To an extent, there is still an element of shock that lingers. I believe that is partly due to how difficult it is comprehend all that had happened.
However, the shock did not disable me. I couldn't let it. My parents stayed with me for about two weeks after the funeral and then I was on my own. Literally. I had decided to stay in NYC where I had no family and no friends that would just drop by to keep me company or to lend a hand. I had work, day care for my son, and my therapist. So although I may have been in a some form of shock, the reality of my new life didn't wait. And I did my best to climb aboard. I didn't want to be left behind in despair and desperation. There was not a single day that I didn't get out of bed. I had a 20 month year old to take care of. He was a constant reminder of all that is beautiful and wonderful in both my husband and in life. And for him I will always be grateful.
Shocked yes. But never in denial...
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