Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Luxury of Letting Grief in through the Crack in the Door

I swore I wouldn't start a blog and then abandon it, but this is, at the very least, a neglected blog. Today,  I write because I need something. Today, I expect it to be cathartic. Today, I am hopeful that if I blog, I may be able to keep it together a little more. I am hopeful, but not unrealistic.

A dear family friend, Christi, lost her three-year-old to cancer last night. There is no universe in which this simple fact is not completely fu&%ed up. I am angry. I am afraid. I am heartbroken for her, yet I worry that if I fully acknowledge that this happens to children, it will happen to one of mine. I am too selfish and scared to let it all in. How fortunate I am to have that option. Christi doesn't.

I start to let the grief gain entry little by little,  as I imagine what her days will be like from now on. Details like: what to do with his belongings, how to pay the medical bills. More difficult issues, such as: seeing the obvious space in the back seat where she used to look back and see him, responding appropriately to a mom at the park who says, "I see you have two children" because she can't see the gaping hole left by absence of the third.

I don't know how she will do all of this. I don't know how she will eat, sleep, breathe. She is a better person than I am. She continues to say God is good. This isn't even happening to me, and I'm practically screaming at him like a defiant teenager.

I don't have any resolution for this post. Fitting, I suppose.