Nearly 11 weeks after Max's car accident. I am really struggling tonight. I am watching each person in my family living on top of a powder keg. The smallest things, the most innocent phrase taken the wrong way, and BLAM, voices are raised, rationality goes right out the window, and reason is not possible. Anyone or anything can set this anger off. And yet, we are told this is normal.
Oooh how I hate that word. There is nothing normal about losing a child. It is not normal, for a healthy, cocky, 18 year old brilliant, funny person like Max to be wiped off the face of the earth with something as random as falling asleep at the wheel of a car. Nothing normal about a happy, carefree kid like Wesley to be saddled with an overwhelming burden this young in life. Nothing normal at all. Except - it happens to so many families, that the feelings the bereaved live through ARE normal for what they are living through. I should find comfort in that. It's at least semi-predictable.
When we decided to have Max cremated, we also decided on cremation jewelry, which allowed us to carry a little bit of Max's ashes close to our heart. We laid the rest at the cemetery. At the time, I asked for Max's favorite clothing back. I wanted to make sure the ashes I had in my necklace were ALL MAX. But tonight, laying in bed not going to sleep (which is also NORMAL), it occurred to me that he was naked when they were handling him after the funeral. Then it hit me as ridiculous that I cared about that. Naked one day, one month, one year, ten years, fifty years after death - it's all the same - he doesn't NEED clothing. He has moved on to eternity, only the shell of his body was left here on earth, and now he has returned to dust. So why do I feel neglectful as his mama that he didn't wear clothes in that moment? Because bereaved moms can and will find everything possible under the sun to feel guilty about. Satan knows our greatest vulnerabilities, and he plays dirty.
I do not like how much time has gone by since Max was alive. I cannot do a darn thing to stop it from going forward. And yet, this is my life, going forward without Max. I read tonight that it is a paradox that pain is the only thing that can hurt us more if we fight against it. If we just go with it and feel it, we move to the other side of it. Well, tonight I guess I am fighting against it. I don't want this to be my life, I don't want to go 1 or 5 or 10 or 50 years without Max. It's intolerable. And yet, what choice do I have?
I am wrestling with God the last few days about WHY, why does one live and another die? Why does one get the miracle cure and another does not. Why does one person walk away from a car wreck that could have killed them, and another die even though they should have been safe. I do not get it. I know I am not supposed to. I just HATE it when that happens, that's all. I like all the information so I have some small degree of control, I guess.
Nights are the worst. Darkness falls, quietness falls, and the chatter in my head gets annoyingly loud. My husband is snoring, my dogs are snoring, and I am tossing and turning, begging for release into dreamland. There aren't enough sleeping pills to help my mind shut off when it is running like this.
Oooh how I hate that word. There is nothing normal about losing a child. It is not normal, for a healthy, cocky, 18 year old brilliant, funny person like Max to be wiped off the face of the earth with something as random as falling asleep at the wheel of a car. Nothing normal about a happy, carefree kid like Wesley to be saddled with an overwhelming burden this young in life. Nothing normal at all. Except - it happens to so many families, that the feelings the bereaved live through ARE normal for what they are living through. I should find comfort in that. It's at least semi-predictable.
When we decided to have Max cremated, we also decided on cremation jewelry, which allowed us to carry a little bit of Max's ashes close to our heart. We laid the rest at the cemetery. At the time, I asked for Max's favorite clothing back. I wanted to make sure the ashes I had in my necklace were ALL MAX. But tonight, laying in bed not going to sleep (which is also NORMAL), it occurred to me that he was naked when they were handling him after the funeral. Then it hit me as ridiculous that I cared about that. Naked one day, one month, one year, ten years, fifty years after death - it's all the same - he doesn't NEED clothing. He has moved on to eternity, only the shell of his body was left here on earth, and now he has returned to dust. So why do I feel neglectful as his mama that he didn't wear clothes in that moment? Because bereaved moms can and will find everything possible under the sun to feel guilty about. Satan knows our greatest vulnerabilities, and he plays dirty.
I do not like how much time has gone by since Max was alive. I cannot do a darn thing to stop it from going forward. And yet, this is my life, going forward without Max. I read tonight that it is a paradox that pain is the only thing that can hurt us more if we fight against it. If we just go with it and feel it, we move to the other side of it. Well, tonight I guess I am fighting against it. I don't want this to be my life, I don't want to go 1 or 5 or 10 or 50 years without Max. It's intolerable. And yet, what choice do I have?
I am wrestling with God the last few days about WHY, why does one live and another die? Why does one get the miracle cure and another does not. Why does one person walk away from a car wreck that could have killed them, and another die even though they should have been safe. I do not get it. I know I am not supposed to. I just HATE it when that happens, that's all. I like all the information so I have some small degree of control, I guess.
Nights are the worst. Darkness falls, quietness falls, and the chatter in my head gets annoyingly loud. My husband is snoring, my dogs are snoring, and I am tossing and turning, begging for release into dreamland. There aren't enough sleeping pills to help my mind shut off when it is running like this.
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