Corniche Beach - Abu Dhabi

Corniche Beach - Abu Dhabi

Thursday, October 2, 2014

When it feels real

Grief is tricky. As an outsider, a foreigner to the concept, I never really stopped to consider the composition of grief. I always assumed the heart-wrenching, unexpected loss of a close loved one would be an all-consuming blur of pain and sorrow. Now I realize how colorful and varied this grief experience can be. How it can constantly and instantly change from a tiny tickle at the back of your neck to a sweeping burn that rips your breath from your body.

Most surprising is the reality that escape is possible, and can be accomplished in even the simplest tasks. My first true experience with escape came with the delivery of the "news." As the doctors described the war raging inside my mom's body, I struggled to find anything else to focus on. My gaze fell to the floor where I noted a tiny little blood splatter on the cold tile of the ICU room. Knowing this view wouldn't serve as a proper escape, I shifted my focus to my toes and noticed a small chip at the top of my normally meticulous pedicure. As my brain attempted to translate the hum of the doctor's voice into meaningful words, I considered how disappointed I was to have a chip in my toenail polish. This became my escape for each subsequent doctor speech in the coming days. That chip in my polish and the nagging thought that I had to fix it as soon as possible provided me with an outlet for the grief that grew in multitudes as the hours wore on. Yet, as the fateful day came and passed, the chip in my polish became a symbol. Something I couldn't let go of, because it might mean I would have to finally face the grief. It's a bizarre metaphor, I know, but I think it demonstrates just how personal every individual's experience of sadness can be.

There are better ways to escape, too. Losing myself in my job and remembering how much I love sixth graders, distracting myself with my girls and their boundless energy, laughing with my husband the way only he can make me laugh. But, inevitably, these distractions lead to passing thoughts. And passing thoughts no longer exist. One moment, I'm lifting Capri over my head to hear her squeal her adorable little toddler squeal when I make eye contact with her and feel the hard, fast punch of loss as I notice she has my mom's eyes. The shift is instantaneous and the pain is palpable. And this is when it feels real. When I can't escape anymore and I have to accept, but the hurt is just too strong and powerful. Sometimes, it's too real and I have to withdraw again. I have to shake my head and cut off the thoughts...because how can it really be real?

The sympathy of others is always well-meaning and appreciated. But I hear that I can move on now, "She would have wanted it that way." I thank whoever issued the advice and smile the smile of sadness, the kind that barely touches the corners of my mouth and moves nothing else, but I know the reality. She wouldn't want it this way. She would want to be here! And the cycle of grief begins again, ever-changing, wildly unpredictable, and painful...but a real, almost welcome reminder of my mommy, who I miss so much, and who deserves this grief.