Skip to main content

To be blunt...

Diary of a Grieving Mom: Social shyness

A moment of truth - after the loss of a child, social gatherings make me cringe. I can't even think of a suitable analogy to describe the mix of emotions. It is a sickening anxiety.
I speak for myself in my grief, but have also talked to others and read stories of others who share my dread of social gatherings following the death of our children. It all sounds good; a day or night out with friends or family. A pleasant distraction or a chance to have some fun.

But for the grieving mom, they are exhausting.

First off, we have to put on our mask. We have to pretend like we are ok, like we are living even though our child is not. But in reality, we are dead inside. Things are not ok and we hate life. For me, life stopped when my son's heart stopped beating. Everyone else's lives kept moving forward, and all we want is for time to stop so we can catch our breath. Pretending is hard work, especially for long periods of time. Who wants a miserable party pooper at their gathering to bring everyone else down anyways.

So, I put on my mask.

Aside from our blue moods, another reason gatherings are so difficult is that we have nothing to talk about but the death. As stated before, my life stopped the moment Xavier's did. What can I possibly talk about... how I cried three times instead of six yesterday. I feel I have nothing in common with anyone right now. I am in a heavy dark cloud surrounded by puffy white clouds. The only things I do now are those tasks that have to be done. Even those things I have to push myself to do. Anything I do beyond that is not for my enjoyment, but to keep my daughter's life somewhat normal. Maybe someone there would want to listen to me become a blabbering mess as I talk about the only significant thing that has happened in my life lately, but its not a great way to get invited to the next party.

I suppose I could just listen.

But, to be honest, listening to others talk about their summer vacations, workplace drama or life in general is painful. I want to be supportive and excited or even sympathetic, but I struggle. It hurts because I am stuck in my grief. I can't just snap out of it or move forward because grieving is a process we must go through to heal. To deny these feelings, this misery called loss, will only delay the process.

The grief is so intense I can't hide from it.

And then there is the awkwardness. Do you or do you want others to talk about your loved one? The fact I can't even answer that question right now tells me I am not ready to be social. In the first place, I don't want people to tell me they are sorry Xavier died. It feels too much like visitation all over again. And if they bring up memories of Xavier it will make me happy, but also sad. And then they will try to make me feel better with some good-hearted, but stupid comments like at least he is not suffering or he is in a good place (for which I am also guilty of saying). But, in those moments of pain, no words can console me. He is not here anymore and nothing makes that better or right.

But, to not talk about him at all hurts even more.

I will find the strength and one event after the other it will get easier--or so I hope.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Feeding the fire

Buried deep within my soul is a fire. It burns slowly; smouldering inside me day after day. I long for the day when this fire rages again. Like it used to before I smothered it with life. Before kids, before mortgages, bills, illnesses and medical interventions, there was something else on my mind. It was fuelled by almost everything around me and grew stronger with every use. This was something that took me through dark spiralling tunnels, across cobalt blue seas with purple monkeys swimming and up mossy green mountains that whispered cool breezes. It sparked all my  senses and tugged at my heart. It sent shivers down my spine and excitement in my belly. And sometimes it paid. My creativity was ignited by an imagination as unique as every snowflake that falls. The words came to me, the stories flowed and the imagery made sense. I created eloquent editorial and powerful prose. But somehow along the way I lost my creative spirit. I pushed it away. I pushed it down. I pushed d
1 comment
Read more

In a perfect world this stuff wouldn't matter

As our family anxiously awaits Xavier's surgery date, we are struggling with the range of emotions associated with another hospital stay. Unfortunately, the sad and most stressful part of it all is the feeling of having to rush back to work. Not because we want to, but because we have to. Even with the latest addition to Employment Insurance for parents caring for critically ill child, it is restrictive and difficult to qualify (like most programs to get money from the government). And it is only up to 55% of our wage (although I would take what I can get). Then there is Short Term Disability through work. Again, very challenging to get and the constant inference from the insurer is almost not worth the effort of applying. Plus, it is not my disability. It is my son's. I am not sick. However, I could argue the emotional toll it has on my psyche affects my productivity at work. And the last option: to use up all of my sick days, all of my vacation days and all of my leui
Post a Comment
Read more

Pondering death

“Mom, am I going to die?” Pondering this rather difficult question tonight.  It’s something I often get asked about when I talk about pediatric palliative care, and more specifically how I responded to that question from my dying son, or what advice I could offer other parents who may also be confronted with this heart-wrenching question. What do you say when that child IS going to die? I wish I had a perfect answer.  In the almost 8 years my son Xavier lived with terminal brain cancer, I don’t remember him ever asking this. Although he was only a baby when he was diagnosed, he lived a very fragile life in his later years.  There were at least four horrific times when his death was imminent. There were days and months when I can only imagine he felt like death. But did he ever ask me if he was going to die? I can’t remember.  I distinctly remember my daughter asking if her twin brother was going to die, but never him.   Maybe I blocked it out-too painful to process or maybe he just nev
Post a Comment
Read more