May 5, 1998
Do I write to process the pain or to stay sane? Probably both. Some people have said I have courage. Others have said, “You’re doing so well!” or “I don’t think I could do what you’re doing.” Still, a few more, will pat me on the shoulder and say, “You’ll be okay” or “You’ll get over this. It just takes time.”
The truth is, none of them is right, but there is a grain of truth in each of them. Mostly, I just do what I have to do, to survive. And I think that’s what we all do, all the time.
I have my way of coping, and you have yours. Whether learned from our parents, or acquired by a conscious choice, we all develop our own way of looking at things and accepting them, or not accepting them. Whether they serve us well or not, we all do what we do in the way that we do it, because at that particular point in time, it is the best we can do.
That’s not to say that some ways are not more “responsible” than others, for we must be held accountable for our actions. But, beyond that, I believe, that it’s simply not our job to judge others.
We each travel a very specific path, all needing to learn and teach very specific lessons. My job is to do the best that I can at any given moment. And that is what I’m doing. I often say, “I try to do my best everyday, but some times my best is pretty good, and sometimes, it’s really lousy.”
I am trying to understand my pain on many levels and as I allow myself to feel the pain, I am better able to understand yours. And maybe, that’s the purpose of pain, and the reward.
I know I would not trade my pain, or give it up, for it is an important part of the love we shared. Pain and joy have no real meaning without the other, and love requires both. Besides, I’m only mourning a physical presence, not a spiritual one. I can feel his spirit here with me now. But how I miss those hugs and kisses, and that beautiful smile with his eyes directly in front of me looking into my soul.
That’s something I will miss until the day I die. So be it. That’s the way it must be. And still, I’m grateful.
May 6, 1998
I can’t believe how my thoughts are constantly interrupted by intense feelings of pain and loss. The most innocent things will touch off my emotions.
I feel totally out of control. The sight of someone with the same baseball cap and glasses, and I do a quick double-take, knowing full well it’s not him, but hoping against hope that I can run up to him and feel him hugging me once more.
I’m aching so, just to see his sweet smile, meant only for me, and to have him kiss my cheek once, no, twice more. We had a ritual that when he kissed me on the cheek, I would turn quickly and demand one on the other so I wouldn’t be “lopsided.” He indulged me and my silly requests. He loved me so much. And he told me so, all the time.
He always knew when I needed an extra hug, and he always wanted to make me feel better when I was down. Now I’m really down, because I miss him so much, and I must wait for another lifetime to be joined with him once more.
I must concentrate on what we had, because it was so good, such a blessing to me. It still is. Nothing can take that away.
May Twelfth
I still remember him asking me, “Why are people mean, Mommy?” He just couldn’t understand it, couldn’t believe it.
And so I tried to explain that only people who aren’t happy, who don’t feel good about themselves, do mean things. I’d pick a young person, who was happy, that he knew, and ask, “Can you imagine ‘so and so’ being mean?” He’d say, “No.” And then I’d explain that people usually act mean because they’ve been treated that way, and they’re just taking out their frustration on others. They may seem to be strong, but really they’re unhappy people, which make them act out of weakness.
This explanation was helpful for a while.&nbs