I feel it coming. First, there’s this sensation I feel through my body. Like a tingle all the way from the top of my head down to my toes. Then I feel as if my heart will beat right of my chest. It’s like my body is in a race, and I am going down.
“Grief attacks”, they call them. It’s what happens when you have no choice but to go on living and you only cry when you’re alone. I can make it through a day at work and I think I’m doing fine. Then, the car ride home and suddenly, the tears are pouring down.
It’s difficult to explain why but I sometimes feel ashamed. Ashamed that I’m not stronger. I can’t endure this pain. When I get to where I am going, I try to hide my face. I wipe away the trail of tears that are going down my cheeks. I’ve learned to have conversations that I don’t feel a part of at all. I laugh and smile and nod but really, you could be talking to a wall.
So many thoughts going through my head that I forget to breathe. “How dare my heart keep beating”? “Why did he have to leave”? Hands shaking, heart bleeding and my soul screaming in my ears. Minutes feel like hours when grief is attacking you. Eventually, I catch my breath. My body collects itself and one more time, I have made it through.
How is a Mother supposed to live with a hurt she can feel in her bones? I suppose I’ll always feel this sorrow. I’ll always wear this wound. Death attacked, grief came with it and I never got up off the floor.
It’s not that I feel this every day. A lot of days I’m doing fine. Not great, not exactly “happy” but, life is going on. Whether or not I feel like it I hold myself up strong. See, there are some very special people watching me, I have to show them how to live on.