Guilt

Frustration… ups, downs, highs, lows and everything in between. The last two days I feel like I’ve been inside a maraca and I’m so drained. Last night was a night of desperate wailing, sobbing, blackness. I can’t sleep anymore, even with ‘drugs’ (that could have something to do with the gallons of Dr. Pepper I drink) so when my eyes opened this morning they were already heavy.

Isaiah was in a good mood, my little light in the black. We loaded up and headed to get his allergy shot. My heart was heavy and aching but I’ve found that on the heels of a soul purging cry a lightness follows. Like the elephant that lives on my chest lost about 500 pounds. Isaiah was fun and silly and six on the drive and my mind somehow managed to stay in the present. Pulling into the parking lot the familiar darkness fell. I waited, counting the minutes while my dear friend herded my little man into the building. After what seemed like an hour the back door popped open and Isaiah exclaimed “Mommy look!!” and proudly held out a little plastic baggie. Instantaiously I knew “You lost your tooth!”

It’s been weeks that we’ve been waiting for that thing to fall. Isaiah has been the definition of a snaggle toothed little boy. Every day we ask to wiggle and test it. “Is it ready yet? No, not yet” It’s been the one piece of normal that doesn’t make me want to punch something or tear at my aching heart.

He lost his tooth. For a moment there was simple joy. I felt it. I held that little baggie in my lap all the way to school, staring at that tooth, thanking God for layering a happy memory on top of the pain of that place.

I spent the majority of the rest of the day lost in the tide of my own thoughts, undulating here or there. I talked to a friend today. I told her about this theme I keep seeing emerge in the stories of grief that I read. People don’t let themselves grieve. They write that after the initial shock they threw themselves into this pursuit or that. They “got back to life.” After a year or maybe two the glass jar holding their pain takes its last deposit and shatters sending shards into every facet of their lives, again.

I’ve told God over and over (I need reminding, not Him) that I want to walk through this honestly. That I want Him to confront me with every memory and every fear and every bit of knifing pain that I need to face to be truly healed. It’s been the greatest struggle of my life to face this head on, to avoid the fleshly urge to cover it up, push it down, busy it away. The agony is seemingly unbearable. I would say that I miss him but the words fall so desperately  short of even beginning to describe…   

So in short I’ve committed to face my child’s death. To say “when Damon died.” To leave the door to his room open, to look at his pictures, to remember his laugh and to tell his stories. I’ve committed to be taken by the black when the black comes and to wail and scream and cry when I am overcome. I’ve committed to feel everything.

I’ve come to expect the pain, the constant undercurrent and the blinding explosions. I live in pain, every second of every minute, pain.

Today took me by surprise. We went to dinner because I’ve realized that I can’t stand the thought of cooking in my kitchen, of anyone cooking in my kitchen. I thought I had faced the memories held in this house so this one shook me.

Before my little Damonator was born I thought the saying “with a baby on her hip” was just an expression. I thought it just meant “she’s a mom.” Damon, however, had apparently taken it literally. I did everything, no seriously, everything with my little one on my hip. I cooked dinner with him on my hip. So tonight, cooking was out.

We went to dinner. Isaiah was in a great mood. The kids menu featured “MadGabs.” I laughed…

An entire dinner where the pain didn’t take center stage? I didn’t cry once. I loved on my kid, received suggestive winks from my love and even ate dessert. I laughed…

Does my commitment to feel everything include… happiness?

I’ve read about the guilt. I think every grief story I’ve read talks about the guilt. The guilt when a moment comes and goes when the child you lost isn’t featured in your thoughts. I had that moment tonight. I’m struggling with the guilt.

I know… I “shouldn’t” feel guilty. I freaking hate “shoulds” I DO feel guilty. It can’t be shoulded away. I DO. What do I do with this now? Like every day for the past weeks I am helpless before my grief. When I start to adjust in some small way to screaming pain I’m assaulted by a whole new arsenal of emotion.

I’m reminded of a friends words “Guilt is not of God. Guilt is of Satan.”

Time to allow my Father to speak His truth over me... again.