Loss
October 20th 2008 01:55 am
I’m so angry I can’t sleep. The rage courses through my veins like a river that’s been unleashed because some kind of internal dam broke or snapped or crumbled to pieces. And no, I’m not mad about the economy. I’m angry because people who knew my sister seem to have gotten on with their lives—as they should. But despite all of the obvious signs that I have moved forward (Since 2001, I have gained a husband, a dog, a new degree, and more than one new career) , a part of me feels empty. Void. Over it already. I’m so tired of pretending. Most of the time the grief conveys itself as sadness, but sometimes, like tonight, it rears up its ugly head and blows out flames of fury. I have no right to be mad at these people who used to be my friends, who used to be a part of my daily life. They didn’t lose their child; they lost a “niece.” I can’t expect them to experience the same level of loss.
Maybe what hurts the most is that in many cases, I don’t even know why these friendships ended or lessened. I don’t know what happened. I had the opportunity once to find out when one of these people wanted to talk to me again after more than five years of silence. I decided not to speak with him because I knew anything I said would sound angry and defensive. I also know him well enough to know that he probably thought he could apologize, and I would forget—or least forgive him—for his absence. I can fake happiness, but I can’t fake forgiveness.
For years, I lived in this idealistic fantasy land where I believed people were inherently good, that friendships lasted forever, and that karma truly existed. Though some of these childish notions were challenged as I became an adult, they were absolutely shattered when cancer killed my sister Adrienne, who was also like my child since I raised her from the time she was eight years old until her death at the age of fifteen.
I’ve always known life isn’t fair, and I realize my life could be so much worse. I’m lucky to have found some happiness after such a tremendous loss. However, when I have bad nights, like tonight, when I can’t sleep because I can’t stop crying (even after taking anti-anxiety medication) and there’s not one person in my cell phone I feel comfortable calling in the middle of the night, I feel even shittier. What no one tells you is that when you lose a loved one— especially a child—you lose so much more. You lose your child, your relationship, your stepson, your godson, your friends, and … a piece of yourself.
I tell my husband all the time that I have to die before him because another loss will kill me.
AWW — XoXo
You could definitely call me in the middle of the night. I’m up anyway and feel the same way about my phone list as you do. The thing you have to keep in mind about that is that there are a lot more people you can count on than you think there are. A friend will go to jail with you. A good friend will break you out. A husband will laugh while posting bail (depending on the charges, anyway). Knowing you, most of the people you consider friends are a lot more loyal to you than you can beleive when you feel like shit. Sometimes it’s difficult for people to say things other than the “oldies but goodies.” (It’ll be ok. You’ll feel better tomorrow, etc) It doesn’t mean they don’t care. It just means they don’t know what to say. The people that ask why you called to tell them you feel like crap are the ones you should delete from your phone. Try one night when you feel like shit. You’ll be surprised by the people you know.
Doug on 23 Jan 2009 at 5:18 pm #