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I do my crying in the rain
But, they know me too well and know that I pretend to be normal.
Written by Connie Small, December 23, 2000
It'll be 7 weeks tomorrow. I feel like it was yesterday and an eternity ago, both at the same time. I hurt so badly, I don't see how it could get worse. But each day, I waken to find how much worse it can get. I keep waiting for time to help. I know I'll never be the same. I just can't see how I'm supposed to go on like I am now. At times, just for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, reality will hit me and hit hard. That's when I feel like I could die and wish I could. Somehow, I push reality away. It's so much easier to bear when I deny that pain. I know I shouldn't push the truth away. I know I have to accept. I just find it impossible to get past the pain. I keep telling myself it hasn't been long enough. And that once I get past Christmas, it'll be better. But I think I'm fooling myself.
When I hurt, it brings me closer to her I don't understand why. I've had moments when I haven't thought about her. I've smiled, I've even laughed a couple of times. I didn't feel guilty like I thought I would. I feel guilty for still hurting, but a part of me wants to hurt. I don't know why. Maybe it's my way of not letting go of her. I feel guilty for hurting. I see other people not hurting and think that maybe I shouldn't be hurting too. Maybe they're too uncomfortable with the pain they see in me. Maybe they don't know what to say or do. Maybe they think the only way they can help, is to take my pain away. What they don't understand, is just being there, without saying a word, "letting" me cry, is what helps.
I want to be "over this" for my daughters, Jen, Misty & Amy. I try to hide my pain from them. When I am with them, I function "normally" so that they can see my strength and know I'm O.K. and I'm there for them. I do my crying "in the rain". I show them more than ever, that I love them and let them know I am here for them no matter what, when, where or why. I know I wasn't there for them the first 17 days, but when Jen told my doctor that I was "her heart" and she "couldn't bear to lose me", I pulled myself together for her, for my other girls and for my grand kids. They see my tears infrequently now. But, they know me too well and know that I pretend to be normal. They know I hide my pain. They know what I do when they are not around. They know. I wish I could tell them, being there for them, being their strength, would help me heal. I know, no matter what I say, they won't lean on me, because they're afraid they'll make me fall. Happiness shared is multiplied. Sadness shared is divided. I feel so alone in my grief. I wonder if they do too. Are we each afraid to hold the other, for fear we'll never be able to let go? Is being strong, making us weak? Or is it just that we each have to grieve in our own way?
I do not like my pain. I honestly don't know whether it gives me comfort or not. I have found ways to hide it. I've always done that; built walls around my heart to keep out the pain. This wall is harder to build. Every time I think I have that wall built, the pain sneaks in and crumbles it. It's so hard to find the strength to keep starting again. The pain comes when I least expect it. I can't control it. It's like my mind tries to forget but my heart won't let it. The expected pain I can handle to an extent. The unexpected pain stabs me in the heart and like in the movie, "The Poltergeist", says "I'm baaaack".
Were it not for the good things I want to remember, I would erase my memory. But I know the memories that hurt me know, will give me comfort in time.