While I share my truth as I know it there is a reticence about this process that has bound me…and gagged me in a way. I think that this may apply to others who have willingly shared their hearts on a blog that either gets read or it doesn’t. Some bloggers belong to Facebook ( I don’t do Facebook) and they link their blogs to it and other sites. I have only one blog: WordPress. My heart is emptied, flaws and all, in this space. I am not Linkedin or Twitterpated, either. I invite only those interested by way of tags. To blog has been a kind of healing for me because I have not only reached out to find help I believe I may help others in the process.
While I have shared this painful truth of death and the slowness of processing its effects, I have shared how my faith has helped me. My story comes out a little at a time as I write and delete. Sometimes I find myself being overly cautious about what I share because there are family members who are part of my story that may not want to be mentioned. But, I don’t want to use my writing instrument as a slashing tool to excise parts of what makes my story whole, either. I also don’t share the other griefs in my life only because the one I blog about is THE ONE that will never be forgotten and has changed me in ways I can’t explain.
I read recently this quote: “Grief lasts a lifetime, sympathy does not.”
Long after the Sympathizers have stopped their condolences, stopped their prayers, stopped coming by, stopped remembering, just stopped…you still have your loss…you still have your memories…you are still grieving even though it has been 2 weeks, 2 years, 2 decades, etc… “Grief lasts a lifetime.” This is my truth after all is said and done, after everyone has abandoned and gone their separate ways. I am stuck in a truth of loss and recovery. In the news when a tragedy is being reported either one of these words is used: “rescue” is used when there is the hope of saving a life, “recovery” is used in reference of finding a body. In the newness of my loss, people were quite willing to “rescue” me with words of comfort and their vigilant care. Now, that five years have passed, “recovery” seems to be a vague synonym to “get over it and move on, after all, we have.” While no one wants to be in the pain of grief forever, it would seem “that it is (I hate this phrase) what it is.” It does subside in a way that is inexplicable, but it has a strange life, like a cancer, of reappearing in an underlying, metastasized state. The smile you worked so hard on one day can transform into a reminder of all that once was before smiling became such an effort.
The pain of living as a mother of a dear son whose manner of death has been ruled a suicide is how I seem to define myself to myself and on this blog. No one outside my ‘cyberspace confidants’ has privy to the things I share here unless I allow them in this hallowed territory of Truths. Cyberspace is a vastness that will always be there…like the stars…the universe…the black hole….I envision this text to be like floating debris in a space where it can never be contained but can be summoned just the same by those who know how to draw it to them. Grief itself seems endless and harsh in its unrelenting presence. It is its own black hole.
God knows my truths and those things I omit. I am a careful editor of what needs to be said and what does not. Some days I am tempted to just go berserk and rant to the heavens….and maybe I have done that but even when it looks like I have….I really have not. When I spouted off to those who were part of my son’s life and death in a rant they will never read or even hear, I probably could have said so much more. My truth is the absence of my precious son and my words are the tangibleness of what I can no longer have.
My blog, my words, my truth, have weight in their cyber condition. They can touch, they can take on their own life in the heart of another mom, dad, sister, brother who mourn. I can wield my words to execute hope, to offer condolences, to help bear the unbearable, to grieve miserably to an unknown audience, to share my faith and to remember. There is power in the transformation of my truth, as it ebbs and flows, and my willingness to share or not to share it.