Saturday, June 26, 2004
A couple of you have discovered me writing the grief end of the blog and I appreciate the kind words and personal experiences. I feel as though I am handling my grief pretty well since I get up every morning and do not drink myself into a stupor. Frankly I keep thinking if I get a can of frosting from Betty Crocker and eat the whole thing it would some how fill the hole that is in my stomach. Thing is I think once I do eat the frosting the hole would only feel really barfy for a while and return. Most of us can understand the physical grief I am experiencing. We all have worried about someone who is late coming home, that they have been in some sort of terrible accident. Mostly we get this gnawing feeling in the center of our stomach that we convince ourselves is our sixth sense preparing us for the worst. Then the loved one comes home and you feel the wave of relief as your stomach relaxes and you feel stupid for "going there". Well I never get the relief. My stomach is always "there" waiting for the relief of John's return. Today while I was in the back at work I was suddenly struck with the thought again that John did not want to die. I know this as fact no matter how much better he feels in the spirit world and staying around on earth an extra year for me. John really wanted to live. John almost never cried during the 2 1/2 years he struggled with the disease. The last week he cried twice. Once when he had a bad dream about being stuck on the bridge again and not being able to breathe or tell the CHP he needed help. He woke up crying and asked me to give him a hug. The last time he cried was on the way down to interventional radiology to get the dialysis port put in. He put his hand out for me to hold as he was pushed down the hall on a gurney. It was really the last time he was fully awake and he told me he was really scared. Not scared because he thought he was dying, just really scared to have another port and be stuck on a machine or maybe he did know how serious of a condition he was in. All I know is John didn't look like someone who wanted to die to me. He was really apprehensive and cried for a minute. Apparently the last day John had a minor heart attack. There is a blood test that measures the amount of dead heart muscle cells (CKMB). John's test came back positive and high.
Today Scott who has been currently staying with me since John's passing is entertaining his girlfriend by making her dinner. Many people ask how Scott is handling all of this. Mostly Scott is very stoic in front of me. I am told most siblings in some way feel guilty that it is not them who died, like some how they are not the worthy child. Scott has not expressed this to me. He was very worried when he almost lost John's cat Nemo. He knew that John would never forgive him if Nemo went missing on his watch. I really have been trying to be mindful of Scott's feelings that first of all he is worth me to continue living for him. The first few weeks after John died I kept thinking what is the point for me to continue living, after all Scott is grown up now and really doesn't need me. John is gone, why bother trying to continue life (I was not going to kill myself, these were fleeting repetitive thoughts I had)? There is nothing left for me here. But, alas some angel always sends me an answer and my friend Mitzi reminded me that Scott would always have the burden that if I did succumb to some illness or didn't at least fight to live, he would know that somehow John's death took the fight for life out of me and he (Scott) isn't worth fighting for. I try not to talk about John all the time or process any of the feelings I have. This does not mean I haven't cried in front of him, because I have, but I have not carried on since I do not want Scott to feel that the rest of his life he will have to live in the shadow of his brother. It was hard enough for the boys to share me when John was alive, imagine if Scott would have to share me with John's ghost.
Today Scott who has been currently staying with me since John's passing is entertaining his girlfriend by making her dinner. Many people ask how Scott is handling all of this. Mostly Scott is very stoic in front of me. I am told most siblings in some way feel guilty that it is not them who died, like some how they are not the worthy child. Scott has not expressed this to me. He was very worried when he almost lost John's cat Nemo. He knew that John would never forgive him if Nemo went missing on his watch. I really have been trying to be mindful of Scott's feelings that first of all he is worth me to continue living for him. The first few weeks after John died I kept thinking what is the point for me to continue living, after all Scott is grown up now and really doesn't need me. John is gone, why bother trying to continue life (I was not going to kill myself, these were fleeting repetitive thoughts I had)? There is nothing left for me here. But, alas some angel always sends me an answer and my friend Mitzi reminded me that Scott would always have the burden that if I did succumb to some illness or didn't at least fight to live, he would know that somehow John's death took the fight for life out of me and he (Scott) isn't worth fighting for. I try not to talk about John all the time or process any of the feelings I have. This does not mean I haven't cried in front of him, because I have, but I have not carried on since I do not want Scott to feel that the rest of his life he will have to live in the shadow of his brother. It was hard enough for the boys to share me when John was alive, imagine if Scott would have to share me with John's ghost.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Day + 52 The other day as I was taking out Tresses recycling a client of Jackie's offered her condolences and said, "At least you had some time to adjust to the idea." What she meant is I had two and a half years to adjust to the idea that John would die. Let me express right here and now, I never had time to adjust to that idea. A few times that stupid idea would invade my thought, even a couple times it would bite me suddenly as I was doing some routine task, but I never in my life even as John was physically dying did I think he would ever succumb to the leukemia. The last 24 hours of John's life were pretty intense. The last few hours were really the worst. And even then my denial did not allow for family members and a dear friend to be called in time so they could be offered the comfort of being by John's side when he took his last breath. Scott ran 5 red lights and got to John's side minutes before he died. This was mostly because as John was fighting to stay alive, my sisters Laura and Jennifer who did realize before I did how things were progressing kept asking if they should call certain people and I kept saying no. I really believed that the crisis would end, John would some how pull through. I had a lot of faith and delusion going on.
Here is a bit of a warning for those faint at heart. Physically during John's final hours the mucor fungus collapsed John's left lung and esophagus and essentially because of his low platelet began to bleed and drowned. Fungus is much like the mold you find on a forgotten fruit in your refrigerator and you know how is squishes or collapses. That is what happen. The fungus was on his voice box because when they did the broch to get the samples to find out what was causing the problem and it was able to transfer and spread (let me right now say that in no way are the doctors at fault...it was already spreading) since John lost his voice the last week. At first we thought the whisper was caused by just having the tube down his throat, but the whisper did not go away and this is something that is I have discovered in retrospect. I wrote about John having a pretty severe nose bleed the Thursday before his death. We thought it was from the nasal biopsy taken that afternoon and the blood was not being stopped because it was not packed well enough. The ENT doc came back and repacked his nose and it was coincidence that the bleeding was finally controlled. Really what Thursday night was, was a foreshadowing of what would ultimately be John's demise.
On Monday after John's kidney's failed, Dr. Doud who studied John's case that afternoon asked me if I thought we should let the kidney failure be a kind way to let John's body leave this earth. Dr. Doud apparently was studying about this fungus, looking at all John had already endured. I told him I would ask Dr. Wolf about it. During the dialysis my sister Jen came by to offer me support and at one point I told her John already looked like he was leaving us. He definitely had this open mouth death pallor. Once he was returned to his room he seemed comfortable, was sleeping until the monitor alarm went off that said John was not getting enough oxygen. I sat John up and yelled at him to take some deep breaths because I just figured he was forgetting to breathe. Sometimes I wished I hadn't done that to him. Death would of possibly been more peaceful if he stopped breathing then. Once we cleared his throat of old dried, brown foam that had collected the brown foam (old dried blood)began to become brighter and brighter red (new blood). I have experienced with John several non-stop nose bleeds that eventually they were able to stop with extra platelets. I wasn't worried, my two sister who were visiting got into the swing, helping with towel's and washing out basins. With help of the nurses and the three of us we were handling the amount of blood that was coming from John. I have to say it was a lot of blood, but I had seen this much on Thursday night and was not alarmed. What alarmed me was the ENT doc would came back again to repack his nose hoping to again stop the nose bleed, he looked down John's throat and looked at me as said, "This is not coming from John's nose." And he left, there was nothing more he could do. In the mean time, every time minute or so John would open his mouth and blood would pour out of it with what at first I thought were blood clots. What the clots ended up being were actual lung and esophagus tissue as the stupid mucor had softened and crumbled them over the weeks. Finally John was too tired, and his nurse Nannette asked if he wanted some medicine to help with the pain and the shortness of breath so he could relax. I have heard from other nurses that John told her he was finished. I missed this conversation because by this time I was cradling John's head and trying to help him expel the blood so he could breathe. She gave him the medicine and John finally laid down as during most of this he was sitting up on the side of the bed. I do remember them picking me up off of the bed and had some men come in and help move John up further on the bed and the respiratory therapist putting a very small tube down John's throat suctioning the blood trying to make him comfortable. I also remember turning around and seeing Dr. Wolf behind me and me asking if this was the last crumble of hope gone since we had discussed Dr. Doud's suggestion that afternoon. Both Dr. Wolf and I concluded one more incident and we should seriously consider making John "comfortable", by increasing the morphine so John could allow his body to stop fighting and his spirit to leave. Dr. Wolf told me this was the last thing we should allow. So as much as I wonder to this day if I shouldn't of given up, I gave permission for John to be made "comfortable". Now a nurse explained the physiology of morphine and that the dose given did not actually kill John, what it did was allow John to stop trying and not be aware of his lungs filling with blood. I have had the hardest time with this. I still know that John did not want to die. And sometimes I wish John would just come down and tell me that he was really finished with fighting. That he was tired of bleeding and being in pain, and not having his kidneys work, and pulling lung tissue from his mouth. I know that there is such a selfish side to this, but I cannot shake the feeling that John would of liked to have pulled through this night and somehow when I gave him permission to go (even though I was just saying the words since that is what I thought I was suppose to say) that he knew the one person who he trusted the most had finally given up too. I only wish I could take those words back, then perhaps things would be different. The only other thing is that how also selfish it is to allow John to keep being in pain, and suffering. I know one day I will work through this...I have to.
Scott did arrive on time. Asked if John knew he was there and John shook his head yes. John took a few deep breaths and died. Dr. Wolf got up and did his job. I looked again at him and asked was John really, really dead. Dr. Wolf felt for a pulse and listened for a heart beat and called the time of death...1:45. Well enough for now.
Here is a bit of a warning for those faint at heart. Physically during John's final hours the mucor fungus collapsed John's left lung and esophagus and essentially because of his low platelet began to bleed and drowned. Fungus is much like the mold you find on a forgotten fruit in your refrigerator and you know how is squishes or collapses. That is what happen. The fungus was on his voice box because when they did the broch to get the samples to find out what was causing the problem and it was able to transfer and spread (let me right now say that in no way are the doctors at fault...it was already spreading) since John lost his voice the last week. At first we thought the whisper was caused by just having the tube down his throat, but the whisper did not go away and this is something that is I have discovered in retrospect. I wrote about John having a pretty severe nose bleed the Thursday before his death. We thought it was from the nasal biopsy taken that afternoon and the blood was not being stopped because it was not packed well enough. The ENT doc came back and repacked his nose and it was coincidence that the bleeding was finally controlled. Really what Thursday night was, was a foreshadowing of what would ultimately be John's demise.
On Monday after John's kidney's failed, Dr. Doud who studied John's case that afternoon asked me if I thought we should let the kidney failure be a kind way to let John's body leave this earth. Dr. Doud apparently was studying about this fungus, looking at all John had already endured. I told him I would ask Dr. Wolf about it. During the dialysis my sister Jen came by to offer me support and at one point I told her John already looked like he was leaving us. He definitely had this open mouth death pallor. Once he was returned to his room he seemed comfortable, was sleeping until the monitor alarm went off that said John was not getting enough oxygen. I sat John up and yelled at him to take some deep breaths because I just figured he was forgetting to breathe. Sometimes I wished I hadn't done that to him. Death would of possibly been more peaceful if he stopped breathing then. Once we cleared his throat of old dried, brown foam that had collected the brown foam (old dried blood)began to become brighter and brighter red (new blood). I have experienced with John several non-stop nose bleeds that eventually they were able to stop with extra platelets. I wasn't worried, my two sister who were visiting got into the swing, helping with towel's and washing out basins. With help of the nurses and the three of us we were handling the amount of blood that was coming from John. I have to say it was a lot of blood, but I had seen this much on Thursday night and was not alarmed. What alarmed me was the ENT doc would came back again to repack his nose hoping to again stop the nose bleed, he looked down John's throat and looked at me as said, "This is not coming from John's nose." And he left, there was nothing more he could do. In the mean time, every time minute or so John would open his mouth and blood would pour out of it with what at first I thought were blood clots. What the clots ended up being were actual lung and esophagus tissue as the stupid mucor had softened and crumbled them over the weeks. Finally John was too tired, and his nurse Nannette asked if he wanted some medicine to help with the pain and the shortness of breath so he could relax. I have heard from other nurses that John told her he was finished. I missed this conversation because by this time I was cradling John's head and trying to help him expel the blood so he could breathe. She gave him the medicine and John finally laid down as during most of this he was sitting up on the side of the bed. I do remember them picking me up off of the bed and had some men come in and help move John up further on the bed and the respiratory therapist putting a very small tube down John's throat suctioning the blood trying to make him comfortable. I also remember turning around and seeing Dr. Wolf behind me and me asking if this was the last crumble of hope gone since we had discussed Dr. Doud's suggestion that afternoon. Both Dr. Wolf and I concluded one more incident and we should seriously consider making John "comfortable", by increasing the morphine so John could allow his body to stop fighting and his spirit to leave. Dr. Wolf told me this was the last thing we should allow. So as much as I wonder to this day if I shouldn't of given up, I gave permission for John to be made "comfortable". Now a nurse explained the physiology of morphine and that the dose given did not actually kill John, what it did was allow John to stop trying and not be aware of his lungs filling with blood. I have had the hardest time with this. I still know that John did not want to die. And sometimes I wish John would just come down and tell me that he was really finished with fighting. That he was tired of bleeding and being in pain, and not having his kidneys work, and pulling lung tissue from his mouth. I know that there is such a selfish side to this, but I cannot shake the feeling that John would of liked to have pulled through this night and somehow when I gave him permission to go (even though I was just saying the words since that is what I thought I was suppose to say) that he knew the one person who he trusted the most had finally given up too. I only wish I could take those words back, then perhaps things would be different. The only other thing is that how also selfish it is to allow John to keep being in pain, and suffering. I know one day I will work through this...I have to.
Scott did arrive on time. Asked if John knew he was there and John shook his head yes. John took a few deep breaths and died. Dr. Wolf got up and did his job. I looked again at him and asked was John really, really dead. Dr. Wolf felt for a pulse and listened for a heart beat and called the time of death...1:45. Well enough for now.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Day +51. I have been reading a book about Talking to Heaven, by James Van Praagh. Beside it taking him 10 chapters to get to the point it is helping me open up and try at least to make some sort of real effort in contacting John so that I know he is safe. John had a friend Antonio who is currently in the room John died in on 4 NE. Visiting Antonio has been pretty therapeutic as he says that John has been in contact with him. Antonio told me I needed to stop expecting John to appear in his earthly form, that John was now a spirit made of various shades of blue full of love and joy. He tells me several staff members have stopped by to receive messages from John. I know that sounds really twilight zone, but John and I have a secret communication word and Antonio used it. He didn't realize this was our word and couldn't understand at first why he was having so many visions of our word (it is an inanimate object of sorts). When I went to visit him he looked at me and the first thing out of his mouth was the obession with the word he was having and when I leaned in close and told him this was our secret word he finally understood why he was having this vision. John knows without this word I would still have doubts about his happiness and where he is now. The problem is that it is hard to fully accept with this human mind and the human conditioning that it is a message from John. After all my ego has to say how in the world could John be entirely happy without me there? Now that is a big ego problem that I am working on. As a matter of fact the invention of having a word was completely selfishly driven on my part so that John would know that I expected messages. So I wait. One of the suggestions of the book, however says to try not to bug the spirit too much as they do have work to do and if they are constantly being bombarded with request from the earthly plain then they will be delayed much like when we are trying to work and the boss keeps interrupting with stupid requests.
So in the meantime I try to wait patiently.
Most people ask where John is right now, where he is buried or his ashes are spread. John currently is on my bedroom dresser in a beautiful red bag with dragons that my sister Aud made for him. He is surrounded by small stuffed animals given to me over the years by the boys. It began with just a couple until I found a few more in a drawer and then found a couple on John's old dresser so the collection now totals about 20. I really do not know what to do with John's ashes, keep hoping that is one of the things he will tell me when he finally comes through to me. He never wanted to discuss dying with me. He just wasn't going to go there. Antonio said John stayed an extra year so that he wouldn't have to leave me since he knew I would be so sad, and in retrospect I know he was right since John was so sick with the meningitis a year ago. John did ask me to let him go then, we had no donor, no hope of a cure, and he was in such grave pain, but I was afraid that if I told him to go that he would conclude I didn't want him here on earth and couldn't do it. Even when I said the words as John's body was dying 51 days ago I really didn't mean it. I just thought this was the brave thing to do, I really and I mean really did not want John to go. I know the last things I said to him, I know I told him I loved him, but mostly my last words were about him contacting me and coming back. I do struggle with how selfish that was to put these requests on someone when they are dying. I do feel shame that I was thinking of myself in those last few seconds of his life. I also know at the time I really still did not think he was going to die. I still thought he was going to fool them all and survive the last nights incident and we would be able to let John pass with some warning. You know gather the family, let friends line up and give there last respects. Speak in whispered tones. We have all seen it in the movies, unfortunately it is often not like the movies.
So in the meantime I try to wait patiently.
Most people ask where John is right now, where he is buried or his ashes are spread. John currently is on my bedroom dresser in a beautiful red bag with dragons that my sister Aud made for him. He is surrounded by small stuffed animals given to me over the years by the boys. It began with just a couple until I found a few more in a drawer and then found a couple on John's old dresser so the collection now totals about 20. I really do not know what to do with John's ashes, keep hoping that is one of the things he will tell me when he finally comes through to me. He never wanted to discuss dying with me. He just wasn't going to go there. Antonio said John stayed an extra year so that he wouldn't have to leave me since he knew I would be so sad, and in retrospect I know he was right since John was so sick with the meningitis a year ago. John did ask me to let him go then, we had no donor, no hope of a cure, and he was in such grave pain, but I was afraid that if I told him to go that he would conclude I didn't want him here on earth and couldn't do it. Even when I said the words as John's body was dying 51 days ago I really didn't mean it. I just thought this was the brave thing to do, I really and I mean really did not want John to go. I know the last things I said to him, I know I told him I loved him, but mostly my last words were about him contacting me and coming back. I do struggle with how selfish that was to put these requests on someone when they are dying. I do feel shame that I was thinking of myself in those last few seconds of his life. I also know at the time I really still did not think he was going to die. I still thought he was going to fool them all and survive the last nights incident and we would be able to let John pass with some warning. You know gather the family, let friends line up and give there last respects. Speak in whispered tones. We have all seen it in the movies, unfortunately it is often not like the movies.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Should I say it is Day +50 or just let each day blend into the next much like when one has a baby and finally they stop saying, "my baby is 24 months" old instead of saying "2". Ofen I find it hard to do the math when the Mom is still using months when it ages to for examble 34 months.
Had a dream the night before last which is what I believe prompted me to begin writing again. I have been writing little notes in a calendar, saying things like: Still sad today...Cried over John's abandoned tool box he used for school. I don't know if that was for future reference, but now for some reason since having this dream I feel like it is important for me to open up a bit.
The dream begins with Dr. Wolf and I standing on opposite ends of an empty hospital bed. At one point he leans over and I hug him, but really what we are doing is cracking his sore and aching back. I am aware of where he heads off to, but when his assistant is looking for him I tell him her he is not with me, but do not reveal his whereabouts. I know this is wrong on some level, but I am protecting him and his aching back. Then as dreams always do, the next thing is that we are arriving at my house (it is my dream house with the shambles of bushes and the neglected pool in the back that I never remember I have until I go through the bushes and see the algae filled water and wonder why no one told me about the pool so I can take care of it)and we are having John's memorial in the back yard. Yet for some reason I decide even thought the service is about to begin that I must, absolutely in the best obsessive/compulsive way walk to the store to get something I must have. I am walking back, knowing I am late for the service in the typical dream state (it is like walking through waist deep water). At one point a nurse, Liz, tracks me down as I pass a Burger King and I go in to take the call and tells me the guests are getting restless and when am I going to arrive. Finally I am at home and go through the back door, climb down the trellis through the overgrown bushes expecting to see the algae ridden pool and I notice it is a beautiful pristine river with a very fine sand river bank (the kind that is like walking on cotton). I look back and see that there is a large grassy hillside full of scattered guests. The sky is an intense blue with a few summer clouds. I become aware of a driveway that leads to this backyard that I never noticed before and I didn't have to take the difficult route through the back house bushes. I turn to Liz and tell her that I always remembered a dirty pool back here and she says that the river was always here and John used to love playing in it. She asks me to call the guest so we can get started, I look for a bell to ring, see there isn't one and begin to call out to the guests when I wake up.
I have been trying to understand this dream for the last day, why the changes in my back yard. Any suggestions? Sometimes it is easier for someone else to see the obvious. Antonio a friend who is currently in 4NE, in the same room John died in says that John had many facets of his life I did not know about. Antonio has had several visits from John (in spirit) and he is using John's love and joy sent to gather his strength to recover.
Had a dream the night before last which is what I believe prompted me to begin writing again. I have been writing little notes in a calendar, saying things like: Still sad today...Cried over John's abandoned tool box he used for school. I don't know if that was for future reference, but now for some reason since having this dream I feel like it is important for me to open up a bit.
The dream begins with Dr. Wolf and I standing on opposite ends of an empty hospital bed. At one point he leans over and I hug him, but really what we are doing is cracking his sore and aching back. I am aware of where he heads off to, but when his assistant is looking for him I tell him her he is not with me, but do not reveal his whereabouts. I know this is wrong on some level, but I am protecting him and his aching back. Then as dreams always do, the next thing is that we are arriving at my house (it is my dream house with the shambles of bushes and the neglected pool in the back that I never remember I have until I go through the bushes and see the algae filled water and wonder why no one told me about the pool so I can take care of it)and we are having John's memorial in the back yard. Yet for some reason I decide even thought the service is about to begin that I must, absolutely in the best obsessive/compulsive way walk to the store to get something I must have. I am walking back, knowing I am late for the service in the typical dream state (it is like walking through waist deep water). At one point a nurse, Liz, tracks me down as I pass a Burger King and I go in to take the call and tells me the guests are getting restless and when am I going to arrive. Finally I am at home and go through the back door, climb down the trellis through the overgrown bushes expecting to see the algae ridden pool and I notice it is a beautiful pristine river with a very fine sand river bank (the kind that is like walking on cotton). I look back and see that there is a large grassy hillside full of scattered guests. The sky is an intense blue with a few summer clouds. I become aware of a driveway that leads to this backyard that I never noticed before and I didn't have to take the difficult route through the back house bushes. I turn to Liz and tell her that I always remembered a dirty pool back here and she says that the river was always here and John used to love playing in it. She asks me to call the guest so we can get started, I look for a bell to ring, see there isn't one and begin to call out to the guests when I wake up.
I have been trying to understand this dream for the last day, why the changes in my back yard. Any suggestions? Sometimes it is easier for someone else to see the obvious. Antonio a friend who is currently in 4NE, in the same room John died in says that John had many facets of his life I did not know about. Antonio has had several visits from John (in spirit) and he is using John's love and joy sent to gather his strength to recover.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
I really do not know what day John would be at if he had survived the fugal pneumonia, and I have often wondered if we would of started counting over after "donor infusion", but today it is 7 weeks since John died (sometimes I say passing as it doesn't sound so dead) which makes it Day +49 for me. One of the hardest parts is that each day that has passed everyone else has gotten on with their lives as they should. But I wake up each morning, sit around in the afternoon and go to bed thinking about John, where he is, is he in heaven, is there even a heaven. It never stops. I have always had a tendency to be an OC thinker, but this is relentless, yet I hear it is normal so I am going with it.
Yesterday I ran into a woman and told her I have gone 36 hours without crying and then proceeded to cry in the car all the way home. I have to admit I have not cried as much as I thought I would, mostly a few moments at a time, then wonder what is wrong with me. Sometimes it just seems not the right moment, other times I feel so stupid, like a drama queen. I also have irrational thoughts about John inhabiting his cat Nemo, especially when he cuddles up to while I am doing the rosary. This morning however, Nemo is not inhabited by the spirit of John or he would not be torturing Kelly as I write this.
I am hoping that since I got up this morning and decided to finally write a blog that this will be the beginning of a good habit for me, and a place to digest what I am feeling. People keep saying there is nothing worse than losing a child, but I think death of anyone is hard. I don't think there is a hierarchy chain that I get to grieve more since it was my kid who died. I know people who lost their husbands and have grieved so much more than I have managed to. Perhaps I am still numb, should be over that part according to James Van Praagh and the book I am reading about messages from heaven. I do think it has something about the depth of love the person had with the person who died that determines the amount of grief. And the amount of numbness since I still am protecting myself from the real feelings. They are just too big and I am not ready to do it yet. I keep trying to embrace that I am human and even though I know John is in a better place that I have the right to grieve since I am just a human. But it hasn't opened the gate yet. Not really sure I want it to open either. Maybe it is okay to be ignorant of this level of pain.
Sometime soon for those who want to know I will hope to let you know what haunts me, what dreams I have (like the doozy last night) and if I do ever get in touch with John so he can let me know he is happy where he is. A friend who says he has been in contact with John says he is very happy. A beautiful blue spirit of joy sending love to us who are left on this earth...for what ever reason we are told to stay. Van Praagh says we are hear to learn lessons and grow. I keep trying to imagine what lesson John learned and passed since he was ripped away from us (yes anger is part of the process). I only remember right now a son who was afraid of dying and wouldn't discuss his final wishes. What lesson could he of finally learned so that he had to go. And then what lesson do I have to learn too to get out of this existence, except if I learn it too quickly, then Scott will have no Mom. Very hard to digest.
Yesterday I ran into a woman and told her I have gone 36 hours without crying and then proceeded to cry in the car all the way home. I have to admit I have not cried as much as I thought I would, mostly a few moments at a time, then wonder what is wrong with me. Sometimes it just seems not the right moment, other times I feel so stupid, like a drama queen. I also have irrational thoughts about John inhabiting his cat Nemo, especially when he cuddles up to while I am doing the rosary. This morning however, Nemo is not inhabited by the spirit of John or he would not be torturing Kelly as I write this.
I am hoping that since I got up this morning and decided to finally write a blog that this will be the beginning of a good habit for me, and a place to digest what I am feeling. People keep saying there is nothing worse than losing a child, but I think death of anyone is hard. I don't think there is a hierarchy chain that I get to grieve more since it was my kid who died. I know people who lost their husbands and have grieved so much more than I have managed to. Perhaps I am still numb, should be over that part according to James Van Praagh and the book I am reading about messages from heaven. I do think it has something about the depth of love the person had with the person who died that determines the amount of grief. And the amount of numbness since I still am protecting myself from the real feelings. They are just too big and I am not ready to do it yet. I keep trying to embrace that I am human and even though I know John is in a better place that I have the right to grieve since I am just a human. But it hasn't opened the gate yet. Not really sure I want it to open either. Maybe it is okay to be ignorant of this level of pain.
Sometime soon for those who want to know I will hope to let you know what haunts me, what dreams I have (like the doozy last night) and if I do ever get in touch with John so he can let me know he is happy where he is. A friend who says he has been in contact with John says he is very happy. A beautiful blue spirit of joy sending love to us who are left on this earth...for what ever reason we are told to stay. Van Praagh says we are hear to learn lessons and grow. I keep trying to imagine what lesson John learned and passed since he was ripped away from us (yes anger is part of the process). I only remember right now a son who was afraid of dying and wouldn't discuss his final wishes. What lesson could he of finally learned so that he had to go. And then what lesson do I have to learn too to get out of this existence, except if I learn it too quickly, then Scott will have no Mom. Very hard to digest.
