This is the thought that I woke up to this morning. Something needs to fill my hole.
And, no, pervy pervs, I wasn’t thinking in a sexual context, I was thinking about my heart. Dirty minded lechers. Sheesh.
Here’s the gist:
I have a fantastic life. I have a husband who loves me and works just as hard as I do to make our marriage work. I have a dog who could make a troll shit sunshine and rainbows with one whimsical tilt of his head and a happy Juno smile. I have some really amazing friends and family. I have beautiful, thoughtful, caring, kind, giving, loving, funny clients. I have a job that makes me LOVE what I do for a living. I have a good solid roof over my head. I have healthy food in my belly. I have money in my pocket. I play a sport that makes me ecstatically happy and keeps me in excellent shape. You could say, in a manner of speaking, I have it all. I have everything a person needs to rock at life – love, food, shelter, and happiness.
But a large part of me is empty – a part that I ignore and suppress and pretend doesn’t exist about 90% of the time. The one thing I don’t have. The one thing that I feel I need to be whole, is my daughter. She’s forever gone and I’m forever empty because of it.
The ironic thing is that I didn’t realize how full a child could make me feel until I lost that child and the hole that formed has never filled in again. I didn’t know what empty felt like until I was full for the first time and oh-so briefly.
Every day, regardless of the blessings all around me, the hole is still there and I’m always empty. I can pretend it’s not there most of the time, but then I see families and it gapes before me again and again. I watch so many of my friends and my fellow derbies with their little ones and my heart squeezes up so tight that I have to completely shut them out so the hole doesn’t open wide enough to swallow me up again. So I shut out the emptiness, pretend it doesn’t exist, and just keep on keepin’ on as though seeing families doesn’t threaten to rip me apart, heartstring by heartstring, until I’ve completely fallen into the abyss that resides right in the middle of my core.
So melodramatic, but so true. It has been two years and three months since Cora died and some days I still feel it as keenly as though it just happened.
The rub is that when I see people with families and I pretend it doesn’t bother me, the effort I expend to pretend catches up with me the next day or a couple of days later and I find myself wandering around, unable to focus on life, day dreaming about all of the things I will miss out on with Cora. I see her curly hair in other little girls, hear a giggle and imagine if hers would have sounded the same, see a mom comforting her crying kid and torture myself wishing I could do the same to my Cora. This is grief. This is what losing a kid does to people and there’s no running away from it.
The part I am having a hard time with is that the hole is always there and it’s filled with a deep melancholy that chases me through life and constantly threatens to blanket me in its suffocating and dark sadness. I am not whole because the hole inside me isn’t filling up. It sucks ass crackers to constantly have to fight an all-consuming sadness and some days, like today, for instance, it gets the best of me and I give in and shut down. It’s true that we create our own suffering, but some days I just can’t escape it – even though I know I’m creating it by torturing myself with what ifs.
I’m grateful for my blog on days like this. It lets me get to the heart of my grief without having to burden anyone in particular and then I can move on feeling a bit lighter and a bit stronger for admitting that I’m not as strong as everyone always claims I am.
Thanks for listening, internet world. I appreciate you.
And here’s a little piece of sunshine to make you all smile after reading such a sad, dramatic blog. I took this from the front seat, with Greg’s little Point and Shoot camera (which takes really great pics). It just sums up Juno to a tee. HAPPY.
Like I said, he’d make a troll shit sunshine and rainbows: