Six Months

I feel like I have a lot to say, but the words are still too raw, they still won't come.

My brain is too muddled to make the words make sense anyway.

There are sobs stuck deep within me.  They just won't come.  I'm not sure I can allow them to come. Truthfully, I'm afraid to allow them to come.  What if I can't close the floodgates once they open?

Today is the six month 'anniversary' of my sister's death.  It's been eight months since my sweet friend died.

Most people have forgotten about these deaths, as well as my grief by now.  To that point, even if someone were to ask how I'm doing, I'm not sure I can answer.  Even more, I've gotten better at faking it.  I'm sure most people think I'm doing better because I'm hiding my pain, I'm hiding my grief--so they don't need to ask, even if they do remember.

Missing them has just become a way of life.

Many people also can't understand how my grief can be so deep when I didn't have a relationship with my sister.  What they can't understand is it's double the grief.  I'm not only grieving my sister's death, but I'm grieving the complete and utter loss at any chance of a relationship with her.  I'll tell you--she was my sister.  She was my last link to my family.  My last chance to having any link to my family.  I know there is no chance at all at having any relationship with either of my parents, and I've let go of that.  I'm okay with it.  What I wasn't okay with was letting go of my sister.  When she died, I had to let go of any chance at all of having a relationship with my sister, and having any family at all.  I thought I had more time.  I want a do-over.

They should still be here.

I still cry my way through worship.  I still can't pray out loud. Some days, I still can't pray at all.  I can't write--I even bought a guided journal, hoping to find the ability to put my words somewhere, anywhere--but that hasn't even worked.  I still find myself in tears during the day, at night, waking up.   Sometimes the nights are longer than the days.  Sometimes you go through the entire day, and then the night, and then the entire next day and the entire next night, not even thinking once about your loss.  Then it HITS you out of the blue, slamming into you like semi-truck, knocking the wind right out of you.  You can't catch your breath, the tears pour out of you, and you realize how much you're missing right now.  It's just the mere thought of them being gone.  It's knowing that God has them, the promise of hope, knowing that while their physical lives are over, their spiritual lives have only just begun.  It's the wonder if my sister misses us as much as we miss her, does she have regrets, too?  I have so many questions and so many emotions, but I have to keep hanging to the hem of his garment.  I feel as though I'm hanging on and dragging along behind him, not even the strength to crawl, but I've got it in my grasp.

I'm on the hard-headed side.  I know there's a lesson.  I mean, there has to be, right?  I know there's pain.  I also know I cause a lot of the pain to myself.  I run right at that wall, head first, as fast as I can, smacking right into it.  Over and over and over.  It takes me a couple hundred runs before I finally succumb to the lessons.  I know there's work to be done--seeds to be sewn, all that stuff.  I know if God is quiet, it's not because He isn't here.  When I begin having my revelations and learning my lessons, it doesn't mean I'm not still dealing with grief and anger.  It just means I'm finally working through things.  It means I'm finally settling on the necessary revelations.

My depression has deepened, and I'm still barely functional most days.  I'm so tired.  I'm worn.  I'm weary.  My brain is muddled and disorganized and forgetful.  People are counting on me for things, but I'm so muddled I can't get them done.  I'm so overwhelmed by my emotions that I frequently don't know which end is up.  My husband is the most patient man in the world.  Things are getting done--albeit slowly and when I remember, and my house has the disorganized feel of someone struggling with depression, but I can't remember the last time I did anything with joy.  I can't remember the last time I felt joy, laughed with my kids, played with my kids, did more than muddle through my day.  I have so much to live for, so much to be grateful for, so much I need to teach my children about grieving 'properly,' and yet--here I am.  I have to plan activities to make myself accountable, but the desire to hide beneath the covers is strong. I'm really struggling.  

I don't know how--or even really want--to ask for help.  I don't even know how to talk to my husband or my friends.

Because of the way my sister died, and the lack of forthcoming information, my children and I have undergone numerous tests, with still more to undergo.  We don't know if my sister had an underlying familial medical condition, but my children deserve to know if we are carriers of anything.

It's something that is ongoing.  I don't know when I feel better.  I want more than anything to just 'snap out of it.'  My family deserves it.

I miss my sister.  I miss my friend.  I'm always going to miss them.  There's always going to be empty places in my heart where they belong, and I'm always going to ache.  Eventually though, I'll be able to smile and laugh at their memories.  I hope.

But for now--I grieve.