Loss

It is difficult. Time has passed. Not much time, but enough. Enough time that others have moved on. Enough time that "normal" life has begun again for others. Enough that I feel as though I am floating through life in a different dimension than the previously mentioned others. My day looks very "normal" from the onlooking. However, my mental instability and inward emotional explosions have not ceased. I still get scattered brained and easily confused by things that would have previously been routine for me. I continue to have moments where my thought process stops cold and I find myself staring blankly at a wall or a screen or some other random object. I often come across things that trigger a lump in my throat that make me fill ill and unable to move.

On the up side, I am no longer paralyzed by the images that flash through my mind hourly. They still come, but I am no longer stuck replaying horrors again and again until something or someone snaps me out of it. I am coping. I am getting better. I am healing.

It isn't a quick process. As so many have said before me, "It take time."

When months had passed following my mom's diagnosis, I told people that I felt like David when he lost his son. He wept and wailed and grieved until God finally took his son, and then he stopped. He began life again, feeling that he had been given an answer and could no longer beg for anything, because what was done, was done. I was wrong.

Losing someone through cancer doesn't mean that you mourn before and then are recovered afterward. It just means you hurt before and after. It means that while that person is on this earth you pray for God to relieve their suffering. And He does, but once they stop suffering your own pain becomes more apparent. It was always there, but now, with no need to focus on your hurting loved one, you are left with your own pain staring you in the face. The reality begins to set in. The wounds begin to make themselves known, and they are gaping. And the closer you were to your lost loved one, the deeper and more gruesome the wound is, and the longer it will take to heal.

Someday I will be able to join you all in this dimension. I will never have the same "normal", but I will heal. Someday in place of this painful, oozing wound, will be a scar instead. No longer painful to the touch, but simply a reminder of my Mom, whom I love and miss so much. Until then, bare with me and others like me, who have wounds that are painful to the touch.