Strength
I keep hearing how strong I am. What does that mean? Where does that come from? Is it because I'm not in a drunken stupor? Is it because I'm not in a comatose state? Dead? Is it because I can walk around with a smile? I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not strong. I'm actually quite weak. See what people don't know...what they don't see, is that I'm falling apart most of the time. I'm on edge. I'm snippy with my husband. I'm short with Asher and am not making his days as fun as I should be. I lose my cool with him at times...I shouldn't. I always feel like crap afterwords. Most nights I numb myself with wine...which of course doesn't take much...maybe only a half a glass...but still. I walk around void of emotions and hermit myself within my home. My faith is weak. I feel like I'm falling off the edge. I can't even pray. I can't muster it. I tried last night. But I was so mad to be talking to Him that nothing even felt right.
I'm not strong. I'm weak. I haven't even opened up the information pack they gave me at the hospital. It has sat on our dresser for the past 2 weeks. I have opened Selah's memory box...once...and held her blanket, touched the dried blood, tried to smell her on the cap that touched her sweet, small head. That was hard. I haven't opened it since.
People say that I'm strong for writing this blog. Really, it's not a strength thing, it's a survival thing. I have to let it go. I have to get it out. If I don't how could I cope? How could I make sense of the hurt? For me, writing is therapeutic. For me, writing is like talking to a therapist. But instead of paying someone to ask me a whole slew of questions and who doesn't know jack about my loss, I can write what's on my heart...get it out and maybe, just maybe, help someone in the process.
I don't know. This whole grief thing is so hard. Some days are horrid. Some are manageable. So moments I want to talk about Selah. Some I don't. Some moments I have hope that we'll be able to give Asher a living sibling, others I don't. Some times I smile, other's I cry, some I scream, some are spent void of all emotions. Sometimes I feel judged for how I'm acting or how I respond. As if I'm being too emotional or not enough. It's all just so hard. I would think that since I've walked through this grief journey before, that I'd be better at it...but I'm not.
I wish I could fast forward my life to this summer. Let me skip the raw pain. Let me travel to where the pain seems more of a dull ache. Let me skip to a time where I've had 'the' conversation with most people and it's more a special moment where I can share Selah's life rather than talk about my grief. Let me feel normal again. And let me never, ever, go through this again. please.
I'm not strong. I'm weak. I haven't even opened up the information pack they gave me at the hospital. It has sat on our dresser for the past 2 weeks. I have opened Selah's memory box...once...and held her blanket, touched the dried blood, tried to smell her on the cap that touched her sweet, small head. That was hard. I haven't opened it since.
People say that I'm strong for writing this blog. Really, it's not a strength thing, it's a survival thing. I have to let it go. I have to get it out. If I don't how could I cope? How could I make sense of the hurt? For me, writing is therapeutic. For me, writing is like talking to a therapist. But instead of paying someone to ask me a whole slew of questions and who doesn't know jack about my loss, I can write what's on my heart...get it out and maybe, just maybe, help someone in the process.
I don't know. This whole grief thing is so hard. Some days are horrid. Some are manageable. So moments I want to talk about Selah. Some I don't. Some moments I have hope that we'll be able to give Asher a living sibling, others I don't. Some times I smile, other's I cry, some I scream, some are spent void of all emotions. Sometimes I feel judged for how I'm acting or how I respond. As if I'm being too emotional or not enough. It's all just so hard. I would think that since I've walked through this grief journey before, that I'd be better at it...but I'm not.
I wish I could fast forward my life to this summer. Let me skip the raw pain. Let me travel to where the pain seems more of a dull ache. Let me skip to a time where I've had 'the' conversation with most people and it's more a special moment where I can share Selah's life rather than talk about my grief. Let me feel normal again. And let me never, ever, go through this again. please.
Comments
I think you are very strong and courageous. I don't think strength is always being composed and having it all together. I think the strength you show is being able to be vulnerable and allowing others to hold you up, especially in prayer. Your openess with your struggle is your strength. Praying that today has some great moments for you.
Cindy Agnew