“Where you been, under a rock?”
Six years into child loss and shit still surprises me.
“Where you been, under a rock?”
This pushes “I know how you feel, my dog died” from the top slot of things not to say to a bereaved parent.
My stomach is still in knots. A f***ing rock. Yeah, let me tell you about the “rock” I have been under. Its called grief, bereavement, lament, mourning, pick one – they each weigh more than a human soul can bear.
I wake up every morning with that “rock.” And I get up. Every. Morning. It is a weight a bereaved parent carries, and it does not lighten. We grow strong and fierce. Our muscles ache, physically ache with loss. Yes, its been six years. Should be over it by now you say? Which one of your children would you like to not see for six years? Or ever. Not hear their voice or see a new picture. Never to have another holiday with them? Which child would you chose to have to sort through their belongings and decide what you will keep and what you will give away?
“Where you been, under a rock?”
What a year. You can’t win. If I move through life and challenge myself and achieve a level of success, then people tell me that I make them look bad because of my talents. Or they tell me they are envious or jealous of me. You want to see what that looks like, my life? Meet me at Justin’s headstone and we can talk envy and talents all day long over the body of my dead son. That f***ing rock. That rock with his death date.
This is what I have been doing while under my rock. I have taken over four writing classes this year. Hard classes. I have received more rejection letters than ever this year, but that means I put myself out there. Yeah, crawled out from under my rock and sent off my words to be read and judged by strangers. I auditioned and was accepted as a cast member for a national show called “Listen to Your Mother.” Had to crawl out from my rock for that too. Oh, and I started a business. Damn rock, I had to get out from it to do that also.
“Where you been, under a rock?”
Oh, and please don’t tell me I am too sensitive. Bullshit. Is there such a thing? I am fully human, fully alive, which means that I am sensitive. To be fully human means we feel things, we grow in empathy, we become attuned to the life and emotions around us. And we don’t ask people if they have been under a rock.
“Where you been, under a rock?”
Maybe I wasn’t the one living under a rock.
Whoever asked you that, where were they when you were struggling under your so-called rock? That’s my greatest disappointment. I have even tried to make new friends, online and in person, because the old ones are uncomfortable and eventually withdraw. But even those who supposedly understand would just rather not. Fresh disappointments.
I keep trying to shake it off Andrea and I am still reeling. I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. Thought I had heard it all. Horses understand, dogs get it, cats try, they become our comfort zone.
This was beautifully written. I so agree.
It’s been four years since my 34 year old son was killed in a car accident. The longer the grieving process continues, the more people I would as soon not be around. I do socialize but I’m always ready to get home to my comfort zone. People have no clue, unless they are a member of the club. Even the death of a parent doesn’t compare. Sometimes I realize, after the fact, that I walked past my parents grave to get to my son’s grave.
Dear Pam,
I do the same thing! My parents and older brother are in the same cemetery, I always make a bee line for Justin first. And then sometimes there isn’t enough of me to stop by their grave, so I wave at their headstones.
I am so sorry for the loss of your son, older children become our best friends and confidantes, our hope and joy for the future – and their loss is beyond what I can wrap my head around.
Thank you for the gift of your time to read and write a note. Wishing you some peace filled moments this evening.
You are so right. Greg was my rock, my best friend. I too, cannot wrap my head around the fact he truly is gone. Thanks for taking the time to respond.❤️
My pleasure Pam! Please feel free to write again, we moms need to stick together!
THANK YOU for sharing this and adding comments. My son Michael has been passed almost 5 yrs now and it’s agonizing, horrifying, devastating to all level’s each day. Just wanted to chime in and show my appreciation for this blog entry, to say that those who have lost a child that you are not alone.
Dear Dawn, thank you for taking the time to read and write a note! And to extend your hand in companionship, I have tears in my eyes, it is good to not be alone on this journey. I am so sorry for the loss of your Michael. Five years felt like a minute and a life time all at the same time. Remembering your Michael today, thank you for sharing his name.
Thank you Terri. I appreciate your reply very much. {{{hugs}}}
You are so fierce Terri, I raise my fist in the air to meet yours. Keep going in all the things. You’re doing the hardest work every single day. You ARE the damn rock. xoxoxo
Thank you Dana for the gift of your time to read and write much welcomed words of encouragement! It is the support of other lionesses like you that give me the courage to keep kicking it everyday. Together we roar!