There are many words that I have had to redefine lately. A few of them have become more meaningful - Love. Sadness. Family. Others have lost meaning altogether - Strength. Normal.
People have regularly commented to Marc and I on our "strength" throughout this ordeal.
I don't really know what people mean when they tell us we are strong. Is it because they don't see us crying? I can assure you we do, every single day. Is it because we talk about our son, instead of staying quiet? Trust me, it is much harder not to. Or is it simply because we have continued to exist, despite this unthinkable tragedy? We didn't really have a choice. If we had, I would have chosen differently.
I certainly don't feel strong. I fall apart daily. I feel unfocused and disconnected. I ache for my son all day long.
But...I get out of bed in the morning. I go out in public and sometimes even carry on conversations with people. Maybe that is all strength is in the face of this kind of grief - simply the ability to continue existing. In that case, I don't think we are any stronger than anyone else. People are just seeing us in the moments when we are not falling apart. They don't see the other side of grief.
Grief is unpredictable. Sometimes I feel relatively normal, and can function for several hours at a time. Sometimes I just feel...unfocused. Like I am somehow awake and asleep at the same time. Often, I feel empty and hollow, like I can't really feel anything at all, and I simply exist. When the sorrow hits, it doesn't always hit the same way. Sometimes I feel it approaching gently and allow myself to sink into it. I let the tears pour down my face until it has run its course. Other times, it smashes me down and leaves me wailing on the floor uncontrollably and I can actually feel parts of myself breaking.
The only thing that is consistent about my grief is how unpredictable it is. I don't know how I'm going to feel from one moment to the next, and I feel all these things and more in a single day. So when people tell me I'm strong or ask how I'm doing, I don't know how to answer. Every day, I feel okay. And every day, I feel a sadness I cannot possibly describe. Often I feel both of those - along with a hundred other emotions - at the same time. It is a maze I have to navigate every day, and every day the path changes.
People who have walked this road before me tell me it doesn't exactly get better, but it gets...softer. Someday, the waves won't hit with as much intensity. And someday, I might not think of Reed every moment of every day, but I will somehow carry him with me. They tell me life will never be normal again, but we will figure out a new way to navigate it. It is difficult for me to have no direction and no idea of what to expect. At the same time, I hope that someday, things make sense again. Right now my grief connects me to Reed. I hurt so badly because he was here. He was a part of me, and that part is now missing. People tell me that doesn't last forever. That someday, the sadness will fade, and only the love will remain. I hope so.
Right now, I know any strength Marc and I have, in any of its forms, is a gift from Reed. I think about how I would have expected myself to handle this tragedy, Before. And it is so different from Now. I know my son was a fighter. He was brave. And I know that he has helped me be strong when I want to collapse. He's also with me when I do collapse, which is often. He's with Marc, showing him over and over how to support me when nothing in the world can ease the ache in my heart. He's with both of us, carrying us closer to one another and comforting us when we need him most. Without Reed, we would be different people. I don't know if we are stronger, but I know we are better because of him.
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