Aloe & Moss

I went to the doctor today.  Actually, I went to the NP.  She was lovely.  We commiserated the subject of loss.  We hugged.

I’ve always been a “power through it” type of person.  I have work.  I need to attend to whatever occupations I have.  Literal work, of course.  But also the work of being a mother, the work of the house, the work of maintaining a normal life.  I’ve always powered through because there was a greater good that needed to be attained.  Always something for someone else.

This time, I don’t have that… necessaryness (?) that I’ve always had before.  Alex is nearly 20.  I’ve got a stable job.  I have a house.  I have a companion (champion?) Everything is in place, I don’t need to make sure that anyone else is in exactly the place they need to be.

I suppose that has always been my self-care.  I care for others.  That is my job.  But there are far fewer people that I need to take care of.  So, without that occupation, I have much more time to stew with my own thoughts.

Here I am now – half of my children gone and no one that needs immediate attending.  My occupation isn’t what it was when my husband passed. I have no reason to power through other than doing it for the sake of just doing it.  And I don’t really have that drive right now.

Now I am medicated.

Maybe the crashes will ease up, be easier to handle.  Maybe I’ll move into numb.  Maybe that will be a relief.  Maybe I’ll be a little less anxious at home.  OR Maybe it won’t work. Maybe I’ll dive into more nerves. I don’t know.  I’ve never had to take the path of maintenance medication.  But I’ve also never had to take the path of child loss either.

Everything is different in a way that is distressing.  Not just the immediate and obvious bitterness, but the hopelessness that comes along with loss of identity, loss of control and loss of purpose.

I can’t power through this on my own.

I’ll never have her back.  I’ll never have him back.  I would really like to at least have myself back.  Even if it dose come in pieces.