Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Unchanging Days

Someone recently asked me what the hardest thing about our grief after losing Henry.  I responded quickly that the daily realization that nothing will change regarding him now is one of the most difficult things.

Every morning I wake up from the haze of sleep and for a brief second am filled with the prospect of a new day - that outlook quickly slips away though as the fog of the previous night's sleep clears and in the span of seconds, I'm overwhelmed at the prospect of another day without him.

I struggle hard to manage my expectations, my attitude.  After all, there are no guarantees in life.  No one says that each of us gets to have a happy, worry-free time of it.  There are certainly better times than others for us and whether we care to acknowledge it or not, there is always someone worse off.

I frequently remind myself that we'd never, ever, ever trade in the time we had with Henry to avoid the pain we endure now.  I try to focus on the good times we had, the privilege it was to be his daddy, and the person he has made out of me.

There is an unknowable welling up inside though sometimes.  An image of him, a toy of his, a sound or other memory and, like a glass dropping to the floor, my outward composure can shatter and I'm left with no capacity to will myself into submission, no ability to control my emotions.  And most times, there is simply no immediate explanation of what has brought me to that breaking point either.

For a long time I've grieved about what had to change.  Now I'm realizing I grieve too for what cannot.


Granya said...

"... we'd never, ever, ever trade in the time we had with Henry to avoid the pain we endure now.'

That is so true, so heartfelt, so indicative of parental undying and unconditional love. How could it be any other way but selfless when it is your child?

His life and death lives within us and always will.

Anonymous said...

absolutely heartbreaking.