I read today, on my friend's FB post, an amazing definition of grief. It talked about how at first the waves come crashing in on you rapidly and they feel as though they are 100 feet tall, hitting you over and over again without mercy. It talked about how the waves eventually become smaller and less frequent, that you eventually are able to see the waves coming at you and can prepare a little more for them as they crash against your soul.
The loss of a loved one is hard and cruel, especially if that loss was too soon or too tragic.
While I have lost a dear grandfather, two wonderful uncles, and some peers from school, the pain of death hasn't stung me like it has others. I have never lost a parent, a sibling, or my greatest fear, a child or spouse. I have been spared this strangling pain so far and thank my Heavenly Father daily for their life and protection. While I truly do miss those I have lost, they weren't mine to claim. Their children, spouses, and parents are the ones who have had their lives changed forever.
So while I have never felt the true pain of death, why do I still feel like I have 100 foot waves crashing down on me?
Why am I grieving? Why do I feel the pain that seems to only define the loss of a loved one?
When I looked up the definition of grief, this is what is says:
I will say that I was grateful to see that grief doesn't just cover loss or death.
I remember the first time I felt the deep cut of grief. I had just been through the difficult and rigorous journey of In-Vitro Fertilization. We had traveled to California and spent two weeks there, I had met with one of the top doctors for IVF, and then after two weeks of waiting and feeling completely sure that I had one or two babies growing inside me, I got a call from the nurse saying I wasn't pregnant.
I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. Punched so hard my breath flew right out of me.
I didn't know this then, but I know now, that I was in the middle of complete and total grief. Wave after wave poured upon me. I felt cold and dark and hopeless.
Since then, I have had my share of grief riddled trials. I have come to see them as what they are and I am learning to own them and accept them. I realize I don't need to be strong at first, I just need to wade slowly through until I can catch my breath again.
I saw this quote the other day and it sums up completely how I feel about grief:
And now we have had another big blow. When I got pregnant with our E, I was ecstatic. She was our final try of IVF and it worked! Our L was only 18 months and we were so excited to bring another child into our home. Little did I know that L's RAD would start to show it's full colors a few short weeks after we found out our amazing news of E.
We were knew to the area, here in Saratoga Springs, and we didn't know a soul. I will admit, no one opened their arms to us and I started to become a recluse. And I started to spiral fast downhill from L's trauma raging fits.
I felt so utterly alone; I wanted the earth to just swallow me up. Looking back, I believe that is when depression had set in.
Needless to say, my pregnancy with E wasn't as joyful as I would have wanted. Stress, anger, and complete total loneliness wrapped me up daily. No one believed me about my L and said I was being too sensitive. They all told me it would pass and that some kids are just hard.
I was barely able to breath at this point through the crashing waves and felt honestly as if I were drowning.
Deep down I have always known that this heartache would indeed affect my precious E. She has always been my fire and ice child, difficult in many ways, but I held on to hope that she didn't feel the constant hurt I felt each day while pregnant with her.
I was wrong. She felt it all.
While her anxiety will never be as severe as our L's, she none-the-less has been expressing her own disorder very clearly these past few weeks and we finally had to take her in to see what was happening.
E has been diagnosed with Hoarder's Disorder. That is right, hoarding.
She flies into raging fits of anger and panic when we ask her to throw away garbage. She hides it in her room and lies about how she threw it away. She holds onto string cheese wrappers, fruit snack wrappers, juice bottles, paper towels, broken toys, etc. like they are precious treasures to her.
Once again, those 100 foot waves have crept up on me and I feel like my strength is waning, as I wade through knowing another child of mine will have to go through the difficulty of dealing with a rather complex anxiety disorder. I am trying to look this trial in the face, see it for what it is, and spend the time we need to with it.
I am owning my grief and I know that time will lessen the frequency and height of the waves.
But just know that if I seem down again, if I don't show up, it is because I am barely able to catch my breath right now.
Lots of love,