A New Year

The calendar has finally turned and we are in January 2020. I have to admit that I crawled my way through the final days of December. Unlike prior years, I felt relief that the heavy dates of December had passed and a new year was upon us. The calendar stretches out ahead of me free of marked dates that carry tremendous weight.

I have entered my second year of grieving Oliver. I forgot how much the second year hurts. It's deeper. Darker. The thawing I have referenced before continues and the sores are exposed. For some reason, wound analogies speak to me when I am trying to define my grief. My sore is scabbed over, still rough and swollen. It bleeds when touched and requires gentleness.

I have been struggling with a bout of depression.  I hesitate to even type the words because there is such stigma attached to depression. Yet I value honesty and authenticity. In the past, my emotions felt too big to manage. Now they feel too distant and hidden to access. I find this much more unsettling. I am working with a therapist and thankfully I have dear friends who avail themselves to me when I need support. Last week I sent out the alert that I needed estrogen rich friends to surround me. The next day I found myself plopped down on a couch sipping coffee and crying with some amazing women. I don't think communal weeping is done enough. It's cathartic and bonding. As is the comfort found in holding a hot beverage.

I feel weak. Fragile. Slow. The simple tasks of daily life can feel overwhelming. Often shame and guilt creep in to weaken me even more. I am reframing things. I try to avoid saying "all I did was..." and instead say today "I was able to...". I have begun my second semester of graduate school slowly working toward my MSW. Along with the weight of grief, I know I also carry the weight of experience, compassion, and empathy. And I have my beautiful children to thank for that.


Comments

Tamara Sz said…
You are brave. I have watched your painful journey from afar (I'm in Hungary), having only known you by face from our years together at Taylor. I have been awed at your gentle, honest, courageous, powerful love for your children as they (and you) fought this battle. I am so grieved for the losses of your exceptionally beautiful children. I can only imagine how lost you feel without the busyness of caring for them consuming your life. How glad I am that you were brave and honest enough to reach out to be honest about your depression. Bringing it into the light, and allowing yourself to be bathed in the love of your estrogen rich friends is so, so good. You are right about communal weeping--healing waters.
I am praying for you now.

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