Grief comes in stages. There is the immediate grief when you first lose someone. Often that variation is accompanied with shock, as was mine. It was instant. Paralyzing. All-consuming. The kind of sensation that makes you actually wish it was someone else’s nightmare instead of your own. Recalling those agonizing hours in the hospital, thoughts were swirling around in my head at rapid fire speed: He isn’t coming home. Ever. I’ll never watch him pitch again. His whole future is gone. Just like that. All thoughts a person feels while experiencing immediate grief.
In the months following the accident, Troy and I were in a dark place. Often we couldn’t verbalize single sentences, we spent hours crying alone, and sat in silence in each other’s presence. Some days we could talk about Dalton and some days the mere mention of his name felt like all the air had been sucked out of our lungs. According to our counselor, those were all normal stages of grief. During this time, however, Colton and Keely remained our solid rocks. They encouraged us to go out of the house, to celebrate the holidays, and to laugh. Our roles had been reversed and they played the part of the parents. And I was okay with that.
As time went on and the healing process began to take place for myself and Troy, I guess I assumed the same was true for the kids. After all, they had been so strong in the beginning and wasn’t that supposed to be the most difficult time? Little did I know that their grief was silently accumulating and would inevitably emerge. Maybe I should have paid more attention. A real shitty fact about losing a child is that there is no manual for how to handle it like a pro. Everyone’s situation is different. You don’t always see the warning signs in other family members, especially when you are so consumed in your own sorrow. I wish I would have. Perhaps I was too self-centered at the time.
It has taken three years for the delayed grief to kick in for the kids. Not that there hasn’t been sadness since that November day. However, it has really materialized in the last few months. Last September, Colton just broke. There didn’t seem to be a specific trigger for it either. (That’s one of the real fun parts about this too). You can be having a perfectly normal day and then all of a sudden you are a sobbing mess. I could hear him outside the bathroom door. He was taking a shower. The sounds of my 21 year old son crying hurt my heart. He would cry and then yell. It sounded like he was yelling at Dalton, “Dalton, WHY?” I could hear him slamming his fist against the shower wall. I’m not sure how long it went on for, but I waited in the living room to talk to him after he was through. His eyes were swollen and red. I asked if this had ever happened before and he told me not really. He wanted him back. He wants to play video games with him, watch shows with him up in his room and throw the football to him. For the first time, he expressed frustration about how DD was driving the ranger that day – likely reckless. And, finally, he wanted to know what his brother would be doing in heaven now. It really sucks as a parent to admit that I don’t have answers to questions like that.
The end of October came and with it a very unexpected incident. There was no warning whatsoever to signal a breakdown in Keely. One day she was celebrating her sister’s 1st birthday and the next she had slipped into a dark, dark place. This went on for about two weeks. She quit going to her classes, didn’t show up for sorority meetings, skipped cheerleading practices, and didn’t report to work. Simply laid in her bed in the dark. Never even looked at her phone. Still unsure about what exactly precipitated it, I can only say it was terrifying to watch. We would try to talk to her and she ignored us. Friends stopped by and she wouldn’t acknowledge them. She stopped eating. We had to take her twice to get IV fluids at the doctor’s office. Troy and I drove her down to our lake house to give her a change of scenery. Didn’t work. I was completely helpless, taking care of a 19 year old and a 1 year old. The only thing I was able to get her to articulate was that she believed it would be better to be with Dalton in heaven than living here on earth. I couldn’t disagree with that but I didn’t tell her that either. The only thing I knew to do was to tell her I loved her. I couldn’t “fix” what she was going through and didn’t want to pretend like I could. I waited it out until one morning I walked up to her room, flipped on the light, and told her “this was the day.” My mom came over and we cleaned her room and bathroom for about three hours. I hadn’t seen the carpet in there for months because of all the clothes. It was a fresh start. She watched me for about 30 minutes from her bed and then started helping. We never really talked about what made her decide to start living again that day and it didn’t matter.
Delayed grief. I guess that’s what we have been up to. It’s a painful reminder to us that this heartache is forever. I read a quote the other day that said, “I’ve learned that no matter how badly your heart is broken, the world doesn’t stop for your grief.” I could give a testimony on that. However, I also believe in this world we fight against unseen evil forces orchestrated by Satan. He lies and deceives. It is possible that he was attacking our family by preying on our children’s vulnerabilities. That is why being deeply rooted in our faith is the best armor of God there is. Trust Him in everything.
Well, it’s nearly February now and we are all doing pretty good. Little Dawsyn Faith likes to keep everyone on their toes. She. Never. Sits. Still. For three months now, she has insisted on holding my hand when she walked anywhere. It made for some very long days, especially when you start them at 5am (her wake up time of choice). As tiresome as they felt, I knew they would come to an end eventually. This week was it. Last Sunday night, she let go. It felt bittersweet. I watched her grow in confidence and encouraged her as she slipped those little fingers out of mine. It isn’t easy letting go. Realizing there is a last time for everything and knowing tomorrow doesn’t always come is reason enough to savor today.
healingthroughloss 