My wound is healing, little by little. What was a so-sharp pain a few weeks ago is becoming a dull ache. One that might even be forgotten now and then (which of course brings on guilt, but that’s another post). In place of the pain is a hollowness, an emptiness. This step of the journey feels even more foreign than the pain. Strong emotion – love, fear, sadness, rage – these make sense to me. This ache in my heart does not.
When I was in my twenties, I was offered ecstasy (the drug) many times. Each time, I said no. I had read that ecstasy would hit all the pleasure receptors in the brain. Nothing in life is so good that it can hit all the pleasure receptors at once, so nothing real will make you happy ever again – you will always remember that time that you were happier (on the drug). That’s probably not true, but this was enough to steer me far away.
That’s the only thing I can think of to explain how I feel now. All of my emotion receptors were on for so long that now normal life seems like less than it was before Ada died. I’m empty, worn out, spent. I have been so emotional for the past few months that it seems like my life is over. I do have hope for the future, I do look forward to things, I do feel love and happiness and even joy. But everything just seems paler now. Like someone turned down the brightness. Like I’m going through the dance steps though I can barely hear the music.
I’m thankful for the other loss moms and dads out there writing, blogging, telling their stories. They help me to know that I’m not alone in the journey. Like I Want Mine by Adam Cahill on Still Standing. As he describes in his post, it’s so easy to forget all the good things that we have in our lives when we lose a child. It seems like everything else doesn’t matter now that they are gone. But of course everything does still matter… a lot. In fact, the people (and animals!) who love us are even more important now than they were before. I need to remember that they are the lights in my life, even when everything is covered in clouds.