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.
Thank you for speaking about your process, your husband, your daughter, your emotions. I usually cry my way through them, my heart hurts, but I love hearing about you, your life and your family. Simply I love you.