Progress
I responded to a couple of journal entries from a friend I met who runs a grief support group on-line for parents who have lost a child. I did not get her permission to include her material here, but I thought my response would not be too out of context to be shared by itself:
Dear Susan,
You write so beautifully, I wish my reply would sound as good, but
since it wont, I will just go ahead ...
Your description of progress hit home for me. This year I had a
"nervous breakdown". I finally couldn't keep doing all I was doing
and not nurture myself. I spent two months barely able to function at
all. Thanks to the modern age of medicine and a good therapist I am
much better now. But each day I have been reviewing my Progress. The
goal isn't to get to where I was before. The progress I measure is in
acknowledging my grief; accepting that there was nothing I could have
done to save Josh; granting myself value on par with my children and
husband, Paul;
My no one has the right words to make me feel better about Joshua's
death. Some days I just have to cry and lay in the trench and really
feel it; lay there and lick my wounds. Even that is progress when the
alternative is staying so busy that everything stays buried deep
inside.
I am spending this Mothers Day with Ben and Andrew sitting around,
eating, playing games, laughing and talking, and letting them know how
much I love them. Just as I still love Joshua as much as I did any
other day of his life.
And we talk about Josh. And it is Progress.
I love you.
Happy Mothers Day.
Dear Susan,
You write so beautifully, I wish my reply would sound as good, but
since it wont, I will just go ahead ...
Your description of progress hit home for me. This year I had a
"nervous breakdown". I finally couldn't keep doing all I was doing
and not nurture myself. I spent two months barely able to function at
all. Thanks to the modern age of medicine and a good therapist I am
much better now. But each day I have been reviewing my Progress. The
goal isn't to get to where I was before. The progress I measure is in
acknowledging my grief; accepting that there was nothing I could have
done to save Josh; granting myself value on par with my children and
husband, Paul;
My no one has the right words to make me feel better about Joshua's
death. Some days I just have to cry and lay in the trench and really
feel it; lay there and lick my wounds. Even that is progress when the
alternative is staying so busy that everything stays buried deep
inside.
I am spending this Mothers Day with Ben and Andrew sitting around,
eating, playing games, laughing and talking, and letting them know how
much I love them. Just as I still love Joshua as much as I did any
other day of his life.
And we talk about Josh. And it is Progress.
I love you.
Happy Mothers Day.