My journey

Every day I sit down to write on this blog.  Every day I think, "Do I want to write about Maxie today or about how much pain I am in?"  Most days I choose the pain.  My pain is played out.  Most people stopped caring about it when Max's shiva ended, even though my REAL pain didn't start until after that.  Even most of my close friends stopped reaching out to me after Max's birthday in October.  Nobody wants to hear about it anymore.  Everyone wants it to go away.  Listen, I want it to go away too...but it doesn't.  Here is what happens....the pain gets worse.  I know it is hard to believe, but it does.  Here is what also happens....there are more pain free moments.  So, while I am not in pain 24 hours a day, the many hours that I am in pain are actually worse.  So, why do I write about the pain?  Well, I could say it is because I want to chronicle my journey through grief.  That way I can look back years from now and say, "At least it doesn't hurt like that anymore".  I could also say that it is for those people who are fresh in their grief and stumble upon my blog to have an idea, or a roadmap, of what grief might look like.  It is true that grief is different for everyone but there are certain pieces that seem to be universal - numbness and shock in the beginning, nightmares, then the horror that it really happened, more painful grief, anger, bargaining, etc.   The real reason I don't choose to write about Max most days, and I mentioned this once before, is that it hurts so much.  When I think about the choice I am making to go on living, and it is a choice, I have to catch my breath because I REMEMBER MAX.  I remember who he was, and I remember his beautiful disposition and personality, and his beautiful face, and soft curls at the bottom of his neck and I am paralyzed.  Nothing about Max was painful at all.  He was pure joy, but somehow thinking about him is SO painful.  And, THAT, is painful in itself.  I hate that thinking about him causes me so much pain.  And, I have never even been able to do justice to how much it hurts here.  It barely relents, and even when it does, I am fully aware that a new blow is coming soon.  My whole body aches with desperation to press my cheek against his soft cheek.  And, to be honest, I don't really want to live this life without him.  I am just doing it because I have to.  Knowing that I have to carry this pain with me forever, knowing that he is gone forever, it knocks me to my knees and it is almost impossible to get back up.  I want to write more about Maxie because he was perfect, but when I think about our special moments in time, my whole heart crumbles, as does my soul, and my will to go on without him.  I have no will to go on without him.  I am just going through the motions, hoping that the roadmaps of other mothers who have lost children, are somewhat accurate, and that there will actually come a day when I want to be here again.  But, some of those roadmaps scare the sh*t out of me!  I have read many times that the second year is worse than the first, partly because everyone expects you to be over it (hell, many of "my" people were telling me to get over it before Max was even gone a full month), partly because you start to learn who you are all over again and that is scary because you are a totally new person.  Many people say the fifth year is the worst...the FIFTH YEAR?  I can't feel like this one more day, one more hour...let alone feel like this in five years.  I fear my will to continue will be worn to threads by then.  Ted hates when I talk about the journey other people have taken.  He says we are on our own journey.  My journey isn't going so good.  My only hope is in looking at the journeys of other people to see if any of them look survivable.  I tell you what.  I don't want any part of any of this.  I don't want any of it at all.  But, this is the life I have been given and I am failing miserably.  I am miserable without Max and as long as I remember who that baby was, I don't see how it will ever get any better.  He was sweet, he was easy, he was happy, he was full of love, he was mine.  I promise to write about him again soon.