Sunday, March 24, 2013

Everything is Harder

Everything is harder.

I know I recently wrote that everything is easier--but it's not. It's harder.

Walking up the stairs in my house, from the first floor to the second floor is harder. Aidan's bedroom door, plastered with goofy drawings, stickers, a photo of Buddy Holly, and Einsteinian wisdom ("Imagination is better than knowledge") faces the top of the stairs. I walk up those stairs at least five times a day. I stop in front of his door, a canvas of accumulated tokens of his eclectic interests. If he were here, I would be starting to nudge him to remove them and start over with a blank slate. Now, I think they might stay there forever.

I walk past his room and look in, still expecting, hoping, to see him kneeling next to his bed, the laptop open in front of him, his papers spread out on the blue camouflage comforter. But instead, his room is empty and neat. The bed's made. Most of his stuffed animals remain in his room, except his two favorites: Manny the manatee who lives with me, and Dot, a big floppy stuffed dog, who lives with M. Peevie.

It's harder to concentrate on anything but grief. It's harder to focus, harder to read, harder to motivate myself to do anything meaningful or productive.

It's harder to be compassionate and kind; it's harder to forgive. Why is this? I think when we do these things--when we show compassion or kindness, or forgive someone who has wronged us, we pay an emotional price. I don't have much of a balance in my emotional account, and I'm often overdrawn. The people who see this most often are the people who most need my kindness and compassion: the other Peevies. There are others who are sad and suffering, too--but I have very little to offer them.

It's harder to go to sleep at night. When I lie down to sleep, the images come. I run through That Day in my mind, with the feckless hope that if I do something different, or if the paramedics arrive sooner, or if the ER docs try a new technique, the outcome will be different. Or my mind goes to the ER waiting room, where we gathered to begin to process the idea that Aidan would not be coming home with us. He is behind that door over there, still and silent. I couldn't bring myself to go in. Maybe if I had gone in, he'd be OK.

It's harder to wake up in the morning. I'm exhausted. Grief is physically, mentally, emotionally exhausting. I didn't sleep well. I don't care about anything anymore, so why bother. I think I should be in a better place by now--it's more than four months. But frankly, I don't want to be in a better place, ever. I don't ever want to feel better about losing Aidan. I'm conflicted and confused.

It's harder to think, and to write. It's harder to be organized and coherent. It's harder to find the right words, because there are no right words.

Everything is harder.


Smile that smile said...

I was his Sunday school teacher when he was a toddler. He was a brave tiny man!

When I woulld watch the movies of Jesus' life every Easter as a kid I remember hoping something different would happen so he wouldon't end up dying in the end. Just thought of that reading your post here.

Broke but Happy said...

Awww, a CAMO comforter?! So he could hide in his own bed! That struck me as funny. But my smile fully disappeared as I read on. The conflict of wanting to feel better after four months, yet never wanting to feel better in a way... very interesting, and thank you for sharing your heart with me, Eve.

Recently recalled that school play we saw in which Aidan was in the chorus, I think. I don't think I ever laughed so hard through a whole production of (was it Fiddler, or Sound of Music? Don't recall the plot but remember how hilarious and wonderful it was)... No more wonderful plays with Aidan...

God bless you and every Peevie today.

Stacey Carli said...

Eve, I think of you often, you are so right when you say there are no words. I just had a friend sharing with me yesterday about how hard this week was for her, she lost her husband one year ago and she is reliving all of the feelings of this time last year, she said people tell you grief gets better with time but she said she doesn't feel it getting easier but rather harder...there is no answer for the right way to deal with just deal with where you are, and whatever you are feeling. I hate to hear you beating yourself up with the what if's something happened differently, but I'm sure I would do the same the end though the outcome was that God brought him home and someday he will bring you home too! I know that doesn't make things any easier here and now, but I know the Lord loves you dearly, as he does Aidan and the rest of your lovely Peevie will all continue to be in my prayers.

jeanie said...

Grief is incredibly hard, exhausting work, and your post takes us with you into the absolute horror of what it feels like. My heart hurts too...for you, for Mr. Peevie, and for M and C Peevie.

But I also feel grateful for you and your ability to articulate this so well. For anyone who is grieving or has ever grieved these words are the truth. As I read I kept thinking, yes this is exactly how it feels.

As always you are a truth teller.

Anna D. said...

Everything you said, and everything Jeanie said too.

Anonymous said...

loss is bold like A crime against you.At first your just shocked, but the real damage is that you know your life will never be the same. Your faced with the why's, how's,what ifs, how comes.

I Dont know much but I know this a dim lit wick He will not stuff out. We are all here to help you fan the flame . sending love from florida E.Mb


Anonymous said...

I have a child in heaven and 20 years has only created a kind of fragile crust around the memories, a place that never feels warm in my heart. I went through the motions for a while, then they seemed more natural. Now they are natural, but it angers me sometimes that people don't seem to see the hurt, the pain that erupts sideways as my right. Hold the people around you tighter, work through the feelings with them, "The only way out is through."

studioGypsy said...

yes. xo hugging you inside me now. xo