Define "Better"

Have a great conversation going on my status today when I argued that there is no point to grief therapy, support groups, and making good choices if it didn't "get better" as time went by.  What sparked my comment was reading a poor guys comments who lost a child 22 years ago, and he said "it feels just like it did right after I lost her - it never gets better."  If I feel this same way in 22 years, I will have lived a miserable life.  I will have been a failure to Wesley as a mom and a failure to Todd as a wife.

I've uttered those words before, earlier in my grief journey.  And my grief counselor immediately called me on it.  If someone repeats something often enough, it becomes their truth - it won't get better.  I'm not judging you if that is where you are, please hear my heart, I don't want you to believe that it NEVER GETS BETTER, it's not true.

I have heard parents 15 or 20 years down the line say "you never get over it", "it just gets easier".   And the ever popular grief "roller-coaster", where one moment you are doing well and then BAM, you are right back into the pit of despair.  Ah, now we may be getting to the heart of the matter.  Let's  DEFINE 'BETTER'.

Will I ever feel like I did before I lost Max?  No, probably not EVER.  But will it be BETTER than the first day he died?  When all I could do was cry?  When I couldn't put one foot in front of the other?  When I was sick to my stomach all the time and couldn't take a breath?  When I couldn't envision any hope for the future?  YES, it will be better.

Better for me, so far, means:

• I can get up in the morning, and my *very* first thought isn't of Max's death.  It may take a few minutes before I orient to reality, and it's not a "surprise" when it hits me.  But when he first died, that was my *very* first thought and it felt like a literal knife in my stomach.  That is better.
• I can focus for more than a moment on a task and not give up.  Sometimes I can work for a few hours and not give up, and the work actually distracts me from the pain.  When Max first died, I couldn't even brush my hair without monumental effort, and if I got dressed that same day?  Then it was a very full day.  Yes, that is better.
• I can think of some of the good memories of Max's life and they make me smile.  Oh there are plenty more memories that still bring me to tears.  But not every single memory brings tears and wretched wailing.  When he first died, the only thing I could focus on was *his death* - how it happened, why it happened, when it happened, all the gory details of death, death, death.  Now, interspersed are life memories.  That is better.
• I allow myself to have fun once and awhile - really smile and enjoy myself.  When Max first died, I couldn't do that - I didn't think I would ever smile again.  And the first time I did, I felt incredibly guilty about it!  Yes, that is better.  Much better. 

I bet my list could go on and on, and I may actually continue this list in my journal.  Does God intend for us to stay in the valley of the shadow of our child's death?  Are we supposed to stay forever broken-hearted, sentenced to pain and misery the rest of our lives?  The answer CANNOT be yes.  A long and winding road - yes.  Hard?  YES.  Complete with ups and downs.   The time it takes will not be measured in days or weeks, but rather months and years.

We will never be the person we were before our child died.  If that is our measurement, we will be unhappy the rest of our lives.  We DO have the opportunity to be better in spite of our loss.  Something different that what we planned or even wanted - possibly!  To be happy, fulfilled, CHANGED, we just have to choose to see it, even when our eyes are clouded with excruciating pain.  Choose to acknowledge the process DOES have a light at the end of the tunnel.  We are meant to heal.  There is a point to grief work and it will be worth all the agony.

Thanks to all the grieving parents who walk this road with me.