It had not occurred to me that the meaning of bereaved was literally “torn apart.” That is exactly what happens to you during grief of any sort. While I have to admit to myself that losing a child must be the absolute worst, I also know that grief is relative to the situation and the experiencer. For instance, a spoiled socialite may have only experienced the loss of a favorite pair of shoes, yet grieve just as vigorously as someone over the loss of a loved one. Maybe that is the biggest loss that she has ever experienced. Circumstances are different and so are reactions. You can’t compare grief or emotional responses, so just honor them all.
When I think of Erin, I am still torn apart. I always will be. I say I have nothing to lose because due to my new perspective, I realize that nothing else is valued as equal with my child, and so I have no more fear of loss. That doesn’t mean that I may not be bummed by it, but I have no fear of it. What else could happen that is worse? This time it’s not death, the popular answer to the “what’s the worst that can happen game.” Death would be a blessing. Being born into another body not so much.
Funny how perspective changes everything. To deal with fears, I was taught that “What’s the Worst that can Happen?” game. You go through it, and the worst is ultimately death of the physical body. But there’s more! If you believe in reincarnation, you reincarnate to live another day! Hell, if you believe in some version of heaven, you go there! Woo hoo! Life continues! Now that I realize the burden and responsibility of incarnating at all, I hold completely opposite views. Perhaps I just go the point of it all. Does that mean I’m done? Apparently not. I am still here.
Which brings me to something I wanted to mention. I “got” this last night after some introspection. If you watch the Walking Dead, then you saw the last episode where Tyrese had his swan song. He was urging Noah to go on early in the episode, saying how he himself had wanted to give up after losing those whom he loved, but if he had, he wouldn’t have been there to take care of (baby) Judith and get her back to her father Rick. So by him living he did something good for someone. He positively affected someone’s life – many lives actually. And he affected Noah’s that day, nurturing him until he also wanted to live and stand on his own. There was so much suffering in his heart but he kept going for others, and because he knew it was his destiny to do so.
So I hold on to this, because that’s really all that I can hope for. I can hope that one day I will know why I had to continue living. Because the misery doesn’t stop. It keeps going, it changes some, but it keeps going.
I will share the listed cause of death from the autopsy later on. I have to take this in pieces lately. I’m feeling just good enough most of the time lately to not fall apart, so I have to take it slowly. I have pictures I would like to publish, but can’t bring myself to think of them. I have thank you cards to write, but can’t make myself do it. There’s a part of me who no longer wants to acknowledge that Erin died. There’s a part of me who looks at this “post-Erin me” and wonders who the hell she is. I wonder why I continue to live in my house, but I can’t bear to pack up her things and vacate her room. I am forever locked in the past with my 10 year old daughter and she will never grow up or age.
And other than the obvious fact that this whole thing sucks, I also don’t like what it has done to me. I really am be-reaved. Torn in half. I understand that now.