Up until August 6, 2010, when referring to Max, we would say "Max is". He is part of our daily life. He is at work, at school, etc, etc. But suddenly, with his death, we were being forced to change our vocabulary. Max "was" ... he isn't "is" any more. Past tense. This immediate shift feels wrong on so many levels. And there are various ways of fighting the vocabulary change. Keeping Max's room just as it "is", just how Max left it, makes him feel more present in our lives. Packing up his room firmly moves him to "was". He "was" living here. He doesn't live here any more. That step is so very hard, to take physically as well as in my mind.
But I'm also starting to see as my grief walk moves forward, that Max doesn't stay "was". As we work through the horror of his death and begin releasing the pain associated with that, I am learning that Max is transitioning from "was" to "always will be". He "always will be" a part of our family, he is just living in heaven now instead of our home. He "always will be" part of the fabric of my life, I carry him in my heart. I can close my eyes and go to him any time I want.
He IS transitions to He WAS, which is in transition to He ALWAYS WILL BE. It's a strange journey. Because as long as I stay camped in IS or even WAS, I cannot move forward to the best part - the 'always will'. You have to camp there to adjust, to digest, to believe ... but don't think you have to stay stuck there forever. The best truly is yet to come. Where I get to smile at a memory of Max, rather than cry. Where I get to display his life in my home without people worrying I am creating a shrine. Where I can focus on the beauty he blessed me with instead of the deep pain his death left me with.
Yes, dealing with Max's room firmly moves him from "is living with us" to "was living with us" - and it's a transition we are still in. But I see the light ... the light of "always will be" - he will always be part of our family, whether he has a physical room in our home or not.
2 comments:
I just found your blog. You had posted If Cemeteries Could Talk, which I wrote. I am so sorry about the loss of your son. It is a very difficult road to travel on. It gets sifter as time moves on but never easier. It is strange that people think we get "better" as the years pass. We just learn to hide the pain better.
Colleen Fledderman
friend me on Facebook if you want to chat.
colleen
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