Landmines

Grief is a sneaky and unpredictable thing.  I've heard it described as a landmine, and I think that is so apt.

You're walking along, thinking things are okay, and then....KABOOM!!  It hits you and you are shaken and blown into a million scattered pieces. 

I started my day today thinking that we would get back into our routines.  My daughter would go to school, my husband to work, and I to teach my students tonight.  I felt like I had cried and grieved with the family and that my heart was at peace and I was ready to move on.

Riiiiight.

I had a long talk on the phone with a girlfriend this morning and worked through a few things, then I drove my husband to work and we talked some more, and then I took my dog out for a walk.  Here's where I should have suspected that something wasn't quite right.  First, I couldn't decide where to walk her.  Nothing seemed appealing.  Then, I felt weary, deep in my bones.  I brushed it away and decided it would do me good to get some fresh air.

The sun was bright and the sky was clear.  The snow was melting into little rivers flowing down into the drains in the pavement.  I could hear birds singing, and yet I felt like my bones were made of stone.  "Keep walking" I told myself.  "The sun will revive you."  But every step made me feel more and more tired.

I finished my walk and returned home to prepare for my work.  I made a cup of tea and sat down to work on some student evaluation forms.  At one point, I realized that I wouldn't be finished them for tonight, so I put them aside and started to collect my teaching materials and get myself ready to leave.  I had a hard time trying to figure out what I needed to do first.  Which books did I need?  What was I going to wear?  Did I need to do my hair?  I wandered back and forth from room to room not really knowing what I was doing.  Then I got a text.  "Mom, I'm not feeling well.  I need my mom."

I know I am not the first parent, nor will I be the last parent, to have to deal with a sick or grieving child while still holding down a job, but this text message, and the series of texts back and forth after it, sent me into a tailspin.  And then...KABOOM. I stepped on the landmine.

As I stood in my studio desperately trying to get my head to work, the explosion happened and the tears started to flow.
 

"Great..."  I thought.  "How am I supposed to work in this state?"

So I called a dear friend and said ""What do I do?"

His response?  "You know what to do."

And I did know what I wanted to do, what I had to do, I just didn't want to do it.

I called into work in tears and explained that I wouldn't be in tonight and could they please contact all of my students.  I felt like a jerk.  Not only was I not going to be there, I gave very little notice, and left the job of calling my students to the receptionist at the school.  Probably not in her job description.  I felt that I'd let everyone down.

Guilt is a horrible feeling.  So is feeling trapped between a rock and a hard place.  Either I disappoint my students or I disappoint my family.

Then I called another friend.  (I have amazing friends by the way!)  Again, I was in tears.  "I feel like an asshole!" I said.

This was basically her response.  "You are not an asshole.  Stop saying that.  You are grieving.  And your feelings of guilt at this situation are because you are a conscientious person.  Stop beating yourself up.  When you're eighty-five years old and on your deathbed, you won't even remember those people that you worked for at the school, but you will remember your family.  So focus on what and who is important and be gentle with yourself."

I'm trying.  I don't know how to do this.  What I want is to just buck up and be strong for everyone else, but I can't.  I have to go through this to get to the other side where I hope I will find my strength.  And when I find that, then I think I will be able to be strong for my family.  I hope.