Superhero Strength

I haven't been writing much lately.

To be honest, I am beginning to feel like my emotions might be too private, complicated and hard to share. I also feel like the further we get in time from the day we lost Max, the more people expect us to be ok.

I can tell by the way that some friends share their heartache with me - as if I am living an easy and comfortable life and can in no way relate to their feelings that life has been unfair to them and that the dreams that they had for their future are so far unrealized.

I can tell by the way that I sometimes get swept into drama and lashing out from others about stuff that feels very small to me in the grand scheme of my life - stuff that pales in comparison to where I've been, what I've seen, and what life looks like to me today.

I can tell by the way that people assume that I, too,  believe that "everything happens for a reason" just because they believe that and it is how they help themselves feel better about Maxie's death and reconcile the awesomeness of our new and big happy family. It seems like a nice little package when you simply tack "Everything happens for a reason" onto our story and keep on moving.

It's become too hard for me to explain what being a bereaved parent and missing Maxie feels like today. It is just easier now to mostly keep it to myself than to share it with anyone other than Ted and other parents like us (who've lost children). When I try to share it - even with those who are supposed to be closest to me - I can tell they don't get it. What's more is that I can tell that they don't really want to get it. It's yesterday's news already.

So, I compile these thoughts for those of you reading who are the newly bereaved.

There will come a time soon (ish) when everyone will think you are "over it" (or at least they will be over it and think you should be too). Everyone will begin to see your life as normal again (because there will eventually be a "normalcy" to it - a completely reconstructed, alternate-universe kind of normal). People will get angry with you about the things you've said since and immediately following the death of your child and will bring it all up now that they believe you are strong and ready to apologize. They are nitpicking. You don't need to apologize. The people that love you should have been (and should still be) more patient with you.

I know that you are still not "normal". I know that you will never really be.  And, I know that you know that too. I also know that when you try to really tell someone (who isn't a bereaved parent) that you don't feel normal they will likely reply with something like, "who is really normal anyway?" - and they won't really be getting it because your entire perception of reality shifted in an instant and cannot change back no matter what you do.

I know you feel misunderstood and alone in these early days.  That feeling will change - but it won't go away. The only thing that will happen is that you will learn to deal with it. You will become stronger. You will get used to friends and family brushing aside your heartbreak and pain because they don't believe it anymore and frankly, they are bored and sort of want you to pay attention to their issues already.  And, just like the "normal thing", when you try to tell them how broken you are - they will let you know that, "everyone is broken in their own way". They have no way of knowing that everything that you thought was broken in you before (the loss of your child), every drama and heartache you experienced, every argument, every anxious filled moment was NOTHING in comparison to the broken you know today.

The fact is that your newly found strength (that you would trade in an instant to have one more minute with your child) will become part of the reason why your heartbreak is ignored. And, I guess that is ok - because you will be able to handle it. You have super human strength now to get through anything life throws at you and I am truly, deeply sorry.