Thursday, April 25, 2013

Two Months

Today, Kenley should be two months old.  I should be wiggling her into her "I'm a Hoot" onesie and heading over to a friends' house, happily settled into my maternity leave.  There are so many things I should be doing today.  Writing these words is not one of them! No offense, but I don't want to be writing this post to you right now.   I don't want you to be on the other side of the internet reading it.  None of these posts should exist, and I am beyond angry that they do.   I should not be doing any of this.  I shouldn't belong to two online support groups.  I shouldn't attend grief counseling every second Wednesday.  There shouldn't be a room in my house I still can't enter.   This is not the life I was supposed to have - and it is definitely not the life I want.

I need a break from this, but there's no where to go.  Nowhere to run where this grief won't follow me.  No distraction big enough.  No project detailed enough.  It's frustrating because I'll have a few good moments - and sometimes a good day here and there where I'm still thinking about her, but in positive ways - but then I crash again and I'll feel like I'm back at square one.   I've been having more and more down days lately.  

I am tired.  Scratch that - I am exhausted.  Completely and utterly.  Mentally and physically.   I can't keep up with the pace I've set for myself.   When Kenley died, I hit the ground running., this is what we are going to do to survive.   And I am realizing, I can't do it all.  At least not the way I thought I could.   It's catching up to me.   I've said before overcoming grief is like climbing a mountain.  And I have been holding on to the rope for dear life as I scale this impossible cliff.   I grip it so tightly my hands are bleeding and my arms tremble with effort.  I want to loosen my grip just a little.  I want to let go.  I want to relax.  But, I can't.   I can't pry even one finger from the rope.  I can't let go even a little bit.  I have to hold on with all my might because if I don't, I will fall.  

So, I hold on.   I hold on while my palms bleed and my knees shake.   I hold on while the sweat runs down my brow and into my eyes.  I hold on, too tired to keep climbing, but unwilling to give up.  I have come to realize that I will always climb this mountain.  For the rest of my life, I will have to propel myself onward and upward. I know there is no top to this cliff, but, it would sure be nice to find a nice, wide ledge.



  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. I will be climbing with you. Some days I may be ahead of you, other days I may be behind. This is the hardest climb of our lives. Maybe someday we can reach the top and find peace.

  3. Some days I feel I'll see the top at any moment and others my grip loosens and I slide further down. We will be forever on this cliff. My hope is that over time, the steep grade of the cliff lessens. And while we will always be on it, we will find points of rest and peace and our climb will be easier not because we've forgotten what brought us to a ledge but because we can look back and remember what brought us here.

  4. Grief is an overwhelming beast. It comes and goes in waves. It rears its ugly head just when you least expect it. One minute you're fine (or as close to fine as you can be right now). Treading water. The next minute you turn around and there's a 60ft wave right behind you. You know. You can't escape it. You watch the wave crest. You know its coming. You watch it curl over your head. You take a deep breath and hold it. You brace yourself the best you can for the impact. There's no getting around it. All you can do is let it "ragdoll" you until it passes. Because if you struggle too much against it, all you will do is burn up the oxygen you so desperately need. Let it roll you til you can come up for air.
    Will the waves ever stop? How long can you survive like this, just waiting. Waiting until the next time you can breathe again. Floating out in this sea of massive waves. Treading water.
    Rebecca, all this is okay. All of this is par for the course. Its okay to feel these overwhelming feelings. Its even better that you can express them. I know you don't see it, but this blog shows that you are stronger than you even know.
    So any feelings that crop up? Never let anyone make you feel like you shouldnt be feeling a certain way. The good, the bad, the ugly. Don't feel bad for indulging yourself in the things that others might tell you not to do. We both know they steer you away to "save" your feelings (and thats sweet and all), but f*ck that! You need to feel sad? Do it! You need to feel pissed? Do it! You need to smile? Do it! And never apologize for how you feel! (Not that you do...just sayin :))
    You seem to have a great support system in place. I'm happy for that. I see your friends, your dad, your sister post comments.
    Keep holding on. Keep treading water. You're a toughie, whether you see it or not.

  5. I missed a few Posts and just went back and read them.

    I know that your writing is helping you thru your grief process but, it is also helping other moms with their losses and it helps people like me to understand what you are going thru.

    Thanks for opening yourself up to us. I know the future holds rays of sunshine for you. You will never forget Kenley and you will love her forever. You have so much love to share with her brothers or sisters. I look forward to that FOR you.

    Robin Fuller