I am trying to get up, but…it’s not as easy as it sounds.
Knocked down is too mild a word to describe what happened to me. My son died two years ago and each day brings its own challenges. Grief is a cunning opponent, willing to attack at any moment. I am trying to find a way for us to coexist. I know grief has become a part of my life. There is no leaving it behind. I accept that, but grief is fighting me at every point, not accepting anything less than total dominance. I won’t hand control over to grief. The fight is on.
I’m down. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. My heart is in fragments.
I have so many wonderful people in my life scrambling to help me gather the debris, but…I’m floundering. The day my son died one of my friends comforted me. They asked what could they do. I told them to bring my son back.
I was asking the impossible. That’s how I feel when I try to write. It’s impossible. How can I deal with a fictional world when reality has me clamped firmly in its jaws and is shaking me like a rag doll?
My son always believed in me, believed I would sell a book. He would be furious at my lack of productivity. I can hear him chastising me. “Mom, stop it! You need to get back to work.”
Just like a kid, create a mess and leave it for you to deal with the clean up.
This is my struggle.
Despite the pain wrapped around my heart, clawing at me, my goal is a simple one.