Un-Break My Heart

We talk about or write of our loss, we are scratching the surface of what we really feel. The grief is so shocking, there are no words to honestly describe what it is, what we are truly feeling. That may be for the best because as we talk to others, they cannot comprehend that small amount sorrow we share, the true depth would more than others could take. Someone asked what they could do to help us get beyond this. The thoughts are instant and we are thankful the words did not leave our lips. Can you un-break my heart? Can you give me back my lost one? Can you make me forget? Then we hear the dreaded words, "We want the old you back. It's been a while, why aren't you over this yet? We don't know who you are anymore." Again, we bite our tongues for the truth is more than they can take. This is me now. The old me is gone forever. I will never 'get over it.' Can you un-break my heart?

A few days ago, my second birthday without my son came. I heard others say the second year is worse than the first because you are in a fog the first year, the second is only too real. I wasn't in that fog, but they are right, the second birthday brought me to my knees. The first one after Tim died was only a couple months after he passed. The shock and disbelief held sway at that time. It was a hard, horrible day without relief but we got through it somehow with the help of our daughter and grandsons. This second one destroyed me. The emotions were so sudden and unexpected; the dark days in the beginning became child's play in comparison. Nothing before prepared me for this, nothing. I thought I had hit my deepest sorrow during the first year. I didn't, it was waiting for me all this time. I know that it sneaks up on us at anytime and any little thing can set it off. I didn't know that it could be almost as bad as the moment I found him, nothing could be as bad as that, but it can almost equal that day. Now that I know, maybe I will be more prepared when his birthday comes again.

As days pass into months, we slowly get our bearings again. We silently congratulate ourselves each mile stone we pass, each achievement we make. We think we are healing a little, not much, but a little bit at a time. The firsts have come and gone and we made it though, painfully but still, we made it through. We are still in a minefield of emotions and pain but are learning where to step to make it less hurtful when things explode around us. We talk to people, we try to conquer the phobias we developed due to loss. We work hard everyday on just living, breathing. We hold those we love closer because we know the delicacy of life, how quick it is gone. We have questions that are never answered and haunt us in our dreams. We have other losses as well to learn to deal with. The ones who left us because they could not handle our grief or for other reasons. Though all of this, it is still just the surface of the iceberg those around us see for we do not have the words to tell them the whole of it. Grief is hard work, it is exhausting, it is every moment of every day and we don't know if that is forever or not. We don't know if we will heal a little, a lot or at all. When we fall, we think we have failed and that is how life is going to be.

This birthday started out as expected. Something to get through, just make it through the day. Simple as that, just make it through. The call came early, nothing special just a call from someone we had not talked to in a long time, someone who did not know Tim died. Reality is harsh. To hear the words again, to say the words again that Tim had died over a year ago. For reasons unknown, it was devastating. Any semblance of normalcy was gone in a cloud of shocked dust, a total awaking of truth that is too hard to bear. I will mourn my son forever. Suddenly I was telling myself that I can't do this. I cannot live without him. I cannot bear to never see his smile again, hear his voice, talk to him about silly and serious things. I fooled myself into believing that I could go on, now, I believed nothing. One small call from the distant past undid everything that I worked so hard to accomplish. We know where this is going, don't we? One small push would have been enough. I had reached the bottom of despair, I was done.

If we allow our minds to constantly dwell on the horror, the horror never eases, it grows and overcomes us and we follow a path that is best left unwalked. I had to pull myself back from that edge. I am grateful that I don't fall to that depth daily or I would not survive. Because of people who talk to me about Tim, because of the family who loves me, because there is something needed done, I am still here. I am still fighting as I pick myself up. No one can un-break our heart, but they can help pull us back from the edge. I don't feel stronger, just more determined. With love from a 'Forever Mom.'