I'm a crier. I am. I can usually moisten several tissues at minimum, and when I'm feeling for those I'm extremely close to, can fill buckets even. Seriously. Crying is just part of how I feel when I'm sad and is a crucial part of my grieving process.
For whatever reason, though, I haven't really been able to shed any tears this time. The recent deaths of a high school friend's younger brother and my cousin's husband--both to suicide--have not moved me to tears and grief the same way I usually am moved. Don't get me wrong--I am saddened to the core about both of these losses; my heart is as heavy as it's ever been when I've lost someone I loved. The problem this time is that I haven't been able to shake that heaviness. I haven't been able to move beyond the numb sensation that overcame me when I first heard the news. This is odd and very disregulating to me. How can I heal and move on if I'm not able to go through my normal emotional process?
As I've struggled since last week to feel something . . . anything . . . I've had the chance to think the situation over . . . and over . . . and over. The only conclusions (if you can call them that) I've come to are these:
1) Answers usually assist me in healing. Knowing why or how something happened--even if it isn't pretty--has helped me in the past sort things out so not only can my mind comprehend them, but also so my heart can feel them. Not having any answers, nor any source from which to get them, has left me in a bit of a quandry I'm not sure how to get out of. Perhaps surrendering to the idea that there are no answers for situations like this is my only available route. Searching for what may never come can be exhausting and emotionally disastrous.
2) I'm overwhelmed. Receiving news like this is enough to pull anyone off the tracks; receiving it twice within 10 minutes has the potential to completely derail the train. Perhaps more to process in a shorter time can only equal a longer healing period. Maybe.
3) I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm hurt. I feel helpless and weak. I want to do something to ease the pain of those I love (as doing so always makes me feel better as well), yet there is nothing I can say or do that will make the dark reality seem any lighter. There was no physical sickness that the victims are now free of, no obvious hardships they have been released from . . . no rationale at all. When the act itself is completely irrational, how can there be???
4) I am scared and want what I can't have. Neither of these situations were predictable (if they were, they wouldn't have happened, I am sure), and caught everyone involved off guard. I see the pain that's left behind, and never want to experience this again--especially from those closest to me. I want to be promised by everyone I care about that they won't ever do such a thing, that they won't ever choose to end their life and leave the rest of us asking "why?" yet I know that is a rather meaningless request.
5) I'm feeling especially needy right now and I hate it. I want to be hugged. I want to be held. I don't want to be alone. This is a new place for me as I'm a very independent woman and am often the one others lean on in tough times, not the one doing the leaning. Poor Raleigh caught the brunt of it all this weekend as my parents left town for one of the funerals and although he repeatedly asked what he could do to support me, I had no real answers to give him. Last night I didn't want to be alone so I practically invited myself into his presence, and although he was sweet enough to welcome me with open arms, I realize my request wasn't really a fair one. The rest of the world doesn't have to stop because I'm in an emotional haze . . . and those I care about certainly don't have to clear their schedule to allow time and space for me to mourn.
So, all that being said, I'm not quite sure what to do. I've prayed. I've ran. I've talked. I've written. I've ran some more and prayed some more. I'm still not where I feel I should be. I am not able to put my thumb on exactly "where I should be," but I know it's not here. When feeling down I can usually see the light at the end of the tunnel (or at least believe that it's there, right around the next turn), however I haven't been quite so certain this time. I definitely don't believe I'll feel this way forever, yet the slow progression thus far has me seriously wondering how long this might last?
The good news is that I spoke with my mother earlier this evening and she shared with me some of the details of the service today and time spent with the family. Her words were uncomfortable and comforting all at the same time, and to my joyful surprise, produced tears--real, wet ones--that lasted beyond the moment when we said, "I love you," and ended the call. I felt so stirred inside I decided to go for a run, and managed to shed several tears along the way. I still haven't had a sob-fest of my usual caliber yet, and I wonder if I ever will? Perhaps this very un-normal experience for me is as normal as it's supposed to be, and perhaps dry tears aren't so atypical after all . . .
