I hate this crazy ‘I’m-not-in-control-of-myself’ feeling.
A perfect example: The other day when hubby and I were driving, the sweeping golden grasses in the farm paddocks near the road out past the winery and on the way to the shops made me cry… freaking craziness! I don’t even know why, it’s not like Grandad ever let his paddocks get like that, they were always well kept because he had cattle.
I dunno. It’s strange…
Sometimes I’m perfectly fine. I miss him, sure, but the pain and sadness is ok, it’s manageable, it’s not overwhelming. Other times it’s like being suffocated.
It frustrates the hell out of me. I hate not being able to adequately articulate how I’m feeling. It’s like a dream, you can remember it right after you wake up, but then the more you try to remember it, the more elusive it becomes. I start to write and the first few lines are good (as in – they accurately describe how I feel), but then the rest starts to feel forced and not real… it’s like I’m TRYING to write what I think I should be feeling, not what I am feeling… *grinds teeth*
Maybe it’s to do with the emotions… they don’t seem to sit still, constantly changing. One minute I can be sad, thinking of how I’ll never hear him laugh again, the next I’ll be remembering the good times when he used to dance his little Irish jig. Maybe that’s why the writing is so hard, in the first initial lines I’m feeling sad, then the next I’m ok, so the sadness doesn’t seem real… I dunno. FFS it annoys me!
Like here’s what I wrote the other day:
Set adrift upon the cold, cruel wave of sorrow
I find myself alone
Will I wake up and face my new tomorrow?
Or will my heart be made of stone?
I like that section. It resonates with me, it feels real
Then I wrote:
Loss tugs at my mind
Hurt stabs my heart
Anger flashes across my vision
Sorrow fills my life
And that to me feels forced and cheap, not real. Something some child would write, not articulate. I don’t like it. So I kept writing and I came up with this:
When I see an old man
I fight a growing sense of anger
Why is he allowed to still be here
While my grandad is not?
I’m kind of upset that I wrote that. That’s not me! I’m not aggresive, I’m not violent. I think little old men are adorable when they shuffle about in their green/grey/brown slacks pulled up to their armpits and their soft fluffy white hair sticking up in tufts of fairyfloss above their head… but I guess it’s true, because I continued on with this:
Remorse and shame fill me
I should not be thinking such foul thoughts
Yet the injustice fills me with an impotent rage
That longs to be set a flame.
It hurts to know he is no longer here,
That he sleeps now with the angels.
Why is it that he had to go
When we were not ready?
When I look back on this, I can clearly see the shift in emotions but I wrote that in a span of about 5 minutes… It’s insane how quickly the feelings change from remembrance to anger to sorrow to shame… WTF?! I feel like screaming sometimes at all the frustration.
Perhaps other people can shed some light on the mess that is my brain at the moment. I can only imagine what it must be like for my grandma. She spent over 60 years with grandad. Could you imagine being with someone for 60 years and then losing them? I can’t!! That stuff is scary!
Was it like this for you? I don’t understand it. I feel out of control and lost… EUGH!
Do you ever want your lost loved one to give you a sign they’re ok? Like appear to you as a ghost (if you believe in them) or just something so you can feel them there? I feel a bit selfish at times for wanting Grandad to do that for me. He would be with grandma, trying to help her through this… then mum… it doesn’t make it hurt any less though.
Tell me in the comments below, if you too went through something like this when you lost a loved one.