Making space

When people spend time with me today, I believe that they are pleased to see that I have "recovered".  They believe that I have put the whole terrible episode of losing my son behind me and am now living a near perfect life - with an adoring husband and two beautiful children.  They often tell me how "great" I am doing.  I don't think that they have any idea that I am thinking about Max all of the time.  I am never not thinking about him.  Never.  I still have intense episodes of PTSD, I still have nightmares, I still wonder daily what I could have done differently, I still see other children who are four years old and watch with complete amazement that my child would be this age now.  It hurts all of the time, whether you see it or not.

When people interact with me these days, what I don't think they realize is that I don't have the capacity or patience for the little dramas that used to be at the forefront of my life: this one is mad at me because I forgot to return their last phone call, that one thinks I am mean, the other one is creating some big drama about a misunderstanding at work.  I get caught up in it for an hour or two - and then I realize - it's all nonsense.  What Ted and I have been through pales all of the little made-up dramatics that life and people present.  Those dramas are a luxury.  They don't make even a small difference in the big picture of life.

I am not a perfect person.  I am not sweet as honey - never have been.  I can be acerbic and sarcastic.  That's always been my personality.  Some people get me and like me and some people don't.  I tend to be drawn to people who are like me in this way: a little salty: people who like to tease and be teased.  Of course, not everyone in my life is like that.  That's ok too.  I will do my best to hear and appreciate you but sometimes my head and my heart are someplace else.  There are big traumas in life and there are smaller ones.  I tend to focus on the bigger ones.  If you care about me, I hope you will try to understand that.  If you don't understand that - that's ok too.  I've only got so much room in my heart and time on my hands these days, as I am sure you do too. 


Seeing Each Day said...

When people asks the socially acceptable question of 'How are you?' you don't even have the effort to reply. And when people talk innocently about moments that show clearly that they've moved on (even if they are sensitive and are still thinking of you), you want to shout out loudly, and it makes you feel like a rude fool, even though what you feel is so real and so undeniably hurtful. Renee

Jayden's Mommy said...

I love your writing Abby is so well explained how many of us parents feel after the greatest pain anyone could experience. It stinks that is so real.