Saturday, June 26, 2010
What is “good” grief? Is it progressing quickly through Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) in a timely manner culminating in the development of a neat inspirational saying meant to carry you through the rest of your life? “She’ll make her way”, “god doesn’t give you more that you can handle!”, “what doesn't kill you makes you stronger”...... well, you get the idea. Is it coming through something painful with deeper insight into the meaning of life as many books devoted to the subject suggest? I really can’t be sure but I know there is a strongly held belief out there that grief can be good.
I thought the “good” grief was the kind you felt fleetingly. The sad song that made you think of a time in your childhood, the tossing of your son’s too-small shoes he wore as a baby into the giveaway pile, reminiscing with an old friend about your crazy teenage years. All those times we realize we can never go back, that sometimes things are gone forever. To me the “good” was the mourning for time past while knowing you were okay with moving forward into the future.
Greta, I do not have “good” grief. I am not flying through Kübler-Ross’s stages of grief nor adopting some motivational saying to assuage my broken heart. I am reading the disability statement on my class syllabus over and over thinking of you. I am fighting the urge to turn over my table Real Housewives style when I hear a fellow student assert with all the stupid confidence of an unmarred life that “you make your own luck”. I’m sneaking up on our memory box and creaking open the lid to shove your first pair of leg braces in the crack lest I catch a glimpse of the hat you wore when you came home from the nursery. I am eating handfuls of Tums to make the pain in my chest stop. I’m developing a theory about how best to deal with errant fallen tears (don’t wipe just dab). I’m throwing away my lunch because accidentally stumbling upon your birth announcement in my sent box made me wonder if I could ever be that happy again and realizing I couldn’t made my food taste like sawdust. I’m putting on a fake smile everyday from behind my desk, from our kitchen table, and from our living room floor.
But Greta you are not the biggest tragedy of my life. I do not grieve for your existence or wish you away. I would not enter my fictional time machine with the purpose of erasing you. I would change so many things but never would I change you. Between you and me, those “good” grief peddlers are liars, and I expect you too to have days when everything feels impossible. But I also expect us both to have those days when it feels like anything is possible too. I can’t offer you a cure to the bad days but I can offer you honesty.
So here’s to all you grievers out there. You will find no inspirational quotes here or promises that time will heal your wounds, just the hope that you get to feel the “good” grief instead of this.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Today is the first day I actually thought about not writing on this blog anymore. Not because I don't enjoy it, or because no one really reads it, but because there isn't much to report. Sure, your growing up, and you do lots of new and interesting things....your just not.... well.... progressing much as far as motor abilities. I'm starting to wonder, if maybe this is it. Sure, their are people who tell us that with physical therapy, blah blah blah, Greta may be almost normal. But I'm also getting from people that you may not drive, you may not walk, you may have very poor speech because the tone in your tongue is so weak. So who's right? Who's wrong? We don't know yet, and for the most part I lean toward the positive outcome. Today though, I'm not leaning toward the positive. We heard yet again, as we have heard from many others before, you have very abnormal tone, super spastic and super weak in ways that make progress slow.
I'm going to try and find something positive to blog about, but until then, I'm just going to stop talking for a few weeks since I'm super sad and frustrated and I need to move forward.