The Sound of Grief

I have not sat down to write in a week.  The past few days have been some of my hardest.  Maybe writing was helping.  This won’t be my best entry.  I do not have focus right now.  Two weeks ago we spent a couple of days at the Washington Coast at a wonderful house thanks to a generous friend.  We took Henry and a friend.  They seem to have fun.  I took a nap on the beach that was the best sleep I have had since this nightmare began.  Scott seem to really enjoy his time alone on the beach.  I found I did not have the energy to trek down to the beach more than once.  Physically I am not doing well.  When I looked up the physical symptoms of grief I have them all. One that is frustrating me is that they say you will either lose weight or gain weight.  Guess which one my body chose?  Yep.  The first week I could not eat at all.  Well I have made up for it.  The magic blue cooler on the porch helped. But combined with no activity and a truckload of meds, I now have a daunting amount of weight to lose to protect my own heart health.  So on top of the grief and pain, I now worry that I may not truly survive this journey and where will that leave my son.

Scott then headed to our friends Hood Canal house for some alone time on the 25th.  Tamese, Susan and I crashed his solitude on Sunday for a night of slushees, rock painting and floating in the inlet.  I relaxed a little, enough to notice.  Scott then stayed the rest of the week while I headed home to hold down the fort.  There were a few nights and many days that week that I was alone in the house.  Henry was out or sleeping over at his friend’s house.  I don’t blame him, this place is a mess and so am I.  What I did appreciate about the time alone was that I did not have to be quiet.  I am lonely.  I also feel that I have to be quiet.  Both of the males in the house get agitated if they see me cry.  They have become assimilated to the quiet cry, they can pretend that is not happening.  But the loud Ugly Cry that truly wants to surface, that has to be when I am alone.  So a few times I let it rip.  Loud, animal sounds came from my body while I weeped.  I found myself screaming her name over and over as if she would answer.  I startled my self with the sounds that were coming from my body.  It sounded primal.

This is the grief that you all don’t see.  The second time was in her room staring at her birkenstocks and vans, wondering when I should wash the clothes in her hamper.  We had redecorated her room in the weeks before her surgery, it was not complete.  Even though the new furniture  and bedding had been picked by her, it still didn’t feel hers.  The last time she had slept there she had been in so much pain and not able to enjoy her new room.  The plan was to finish putting things back in her room while she was recuperating. We had removed everything to purge and to make room to paint.  All of those things were put in my office/craft/bonus/storage room.  Her dance trophies were put in a box in the garage.  She wanted an adult room.  Six huge bags of clothes and items collected by teen girls were give to the goodwill truck.  There are even duffles that had not been opened or emptied from her return from the dorms.  I screamed her name over and over in that room looking at the new bedding, the stack of linens for her new apartment still in the bags and the medical supplies on the bookcase.  Her iwatch, phone and purse in the nightstand.  Her endless supplies of blanket and throws, she claimed each were her favorite.  The mirror she loved that we have had in our home since she was 3.  Her mattress she has slept on since she was 3.  Oh and the pillow pets everywhere.  She wanted to toss them all into the huge goodwill pile the week before surgery.  I told her to wait and we would pick her 3 favorites while she recuperated.  Her make up.  Her socks.  She wore short Costco socks with her slip on white vans.  They never matched and she had hundreds.  The Ikea upholstered stool we had purchased so the little dogs could get up on her bed.  The dvd player on the bottom shelf waiting to be plugged in.  She planned to do a Disney Marathon from our collection while she rested.

I screamed her name over and over until my head and throat hurt.  The next day I was hoarse.  Guess what?  She didn’t answer.  You see this is the part no one talks about.  What happens when the meals end (totally good for my weight at this point), what happens when the visits stop, the messages slow down, there is no planning for a service, what goes on in that home.  It is now both comforting and your sanctuary, but also torturing you every where you look.  AT THE SAME TIME.  People don’t tell you how that feels.  You figure it is bad and sad, but life is moving forward.

Time stopped for us and our circle of family and friends for 4 weeks.  That could not last.  There is work, school and they still have their daughters to go shopping with, travel, and set up in their college dorms.  I am both jealous of them and so very happy because I know how wonderful it is to have a daughter.

I have a 15 year old son, who is the best young man I could ask for.  Without him I can tell you that I may not have chosen to endure this pain.  He is kind, he is polite at all the right times, he has steady friendships, the moms love him, he doesn’t want to follow a crowd, or push the boundaries like a lot of teen boys.  He likes his computer he built himself.  He likes gaming.  He likes to watch video of podcasts with his dad that I don’t understand.  He is getting involved with marching band.  He is a very independent teenager.

That is the problem, we did a good job with this kid too.  He is just the right amount of independent for his age.  I know in my heart he needs his mom.  But he needs me to just be present.  He really doesn’t need a bunch of hugs.  He doesn’t want to sit and chat.   He doesn’t want to go wander Homegoods or Target with me.  He is doing exactly what he should be doing.  He is being himself.  He is not trying to be my shoulder or replace my friendship with Hayley.  I know that is exactly what should be happening and is healthy.  But remember I am lonely.

I feel like Fonzie from Happy Days.  Didn’t he have a little black book? I have a book of friends, acquaintances and a mother that would drop anything to come keep me company.  But that doesn’t feel right either.  I am just not good company.  Some of these people I find soothing and some I just see my grief looking back at me.  Today I went to the Lake with one of my best friends and her daughter and her friend.  It sounded nice to get some vitamin D. We originally had talked about just the two of us floating the river.  But thankfully reservations were full and when I saw the speed right now made the trip 4 hours I knew that would not be relaxing.  To be trapped for that long would feel claustrophobic.  So instead we went to the lake.  I knew I shouldn’t go.  I almost said no.  My gut told me no.

As soon as we left in that huge SUV stuffed full with inflatable plastic I should have asked her to turn around and take me home.  By the time we got to the lake I wanted out of that car so badly.  I wanted to be alone.  I felt ashamed because these were the people I love most.  While I was dropped off at one section she took the girls to go rent SUP.  I had my floaty which is like a recliner on the water.  So comfortable but very difficult to get into gracefully.  The first attempt I flipped it with my new water proof speaker and towel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.  I lost a flip flop in the muck never to surface again.  I made it on the 2nd try and glanced over to where two women sat in their chairs and when they saw me look, they clapped.  Yes, evidently they had enjoyed the show.  If they only knew.

I paddled out, the water was mucky and not very refreshing.  I tried to connect my new speaker to my phone now hanging in it’s new dry case around my neck with no luck.  But thank you Pandora for choosing that moment to play one of the last songs i had played for Hayley before she was gone.  The Fray, Never say Never.  The hook is “don’t let go” over and over.  My friend arrived and paddled out.  I tried to relax.

At one of my counseling sessions he tried to teach me to quiet my brain.  He had only spent a total of 2 hours with me at that point over three weeks and he pointed out that I appear to have a lot going on in my head at one time.  Like a computer with lots of tabs open.  “Is that normal for you?”  Wow, I don’t think Scott had ever acknowledged this about me.  Bingo.  Yep, always.  Now add this tragic journey and sprinkle grief all over that hard drive and we have a problem.  He had me close my eyes and asked me to tell him what sounds I heard.  Being competitive this seemed like a test. I was that student that had to always get the highest score, bring it on.  Like the search in the Sunday paper where you have to find the things wrong with two seemingly duplicate pictures.  I heard the music in the lobby, traffic outside the window, the squeak of his chair.  “Is that all?” he asked. OMG, I am failing his test. okay, focus what else can I hear.  I felt like there was maybe 3 more sounds I was missing.  I tried to find them.  Clearly I failed.  But did I?

He said how long do you think that took?  Forever was what my brain said, maybe 5 minutes?  No, it had only been 60 seconds.  But it felt longer because for the first 60 seconds in weeks I did not think about Hayley’s death, my grief or my pain.  He is good.  We then tried two other exercises involving sand and breathing from my abdomen.  Both I truthfully told him were not going to work, nice try.  But the hearing game, also known as mindfulness, I liked that.

There on the lake where I didn’t want to be, I laid my head back and closed my eyes, what did I hear?  I heard too much!  Fricking kids screaming and splashing every where, ducks quacking which means I was floating in duck shit, a jet ski, several boats that clearly needed tune ups.  When I opened my eyes I saw a hazy blue sky and all I wanted was to be at home.  NOW, right that moment.  It felt like I couldn’t breathe, I cried.  I was so thankful to have my phone I called my son because Scott didn’t answer and asked him to tell Dad to come pick me up at the park as fast as he could.  He asked what was wrong, I said “I just need to be home now”.  He didn’t need any other explanation.  I yelled to my friend, I have to go,  I just can’t.  I paddled to shore, dragged my bag and floaty wearing one flip flop (I figured, why get slivers in both feet).  I was crying and I felt as if every person, child and bird there was watching me.  This pathetic, fat, grieving mother dragging her floaty across the playground while wearing one flip flop.  Winded I sat on a bench near the playground.  I wanted to scream at the tired looking mother that had just put her toddler’s shoes back on for the third time.  “LET HER GO BAREFOOT!”  because you will never get that moment back, let her get her clothes wet, let her walk through the splash fountain.  Be proud she at least didn’t want to ruin her cute shoes.

When you are grieving you are extra sensitive in all ways.  Noises are louder.  The ground is harder.  Smells are stronger.  You see details everywhere.  I felt as if all of this noise was suffocating me.  I can find a way to see, remember or imagine Hayley in every single thing I see.  I remembered running the inflatable race with her right at that park a year ago.  I remember when she loved splash fountains when she was 3.  That tree over there looks like one I took her photo under.  Oh look, there is a butterfly maybe that is a sign from Hayley.  It is so overwhelming it takes your breath away.  That is if you are not already breathing shallow to avoid Ugly Crying in public.

I was feeling so awful physically recently and I tried to come up with the word to describe it to a friend and I could only think of the word panting.  I felt like I was always panting.  At that same session the counselor made the observation that I am always breathing very shallow when he sees me.  That was the description I could not identify.  I am always breathing shallow.  If I try to take a deep breath it hurts.  If I give my body, my brain a deep breath and enough oxygen it only gives me back pain and the crying will start again.  If I don’t breathe deep enough I won’t have the energy to feel, I won’t have the energy to scream at someone for no reason and I won’t relax, letting down my guard or softening the walls that I have built to survive.   Others may see me and may notice I am not as talkative or animated as normal.  So to them the sound of grief is quiet.  But it is not.  It is loud.  I wish it was quiet.  But it is not.  I can totally understand how a grieving person may turn to alcohol or pills to dull the noise.  I always thought it was so they don’t feel.  But now I think it would be to just make all the noise go away.

When Scott arrived, he took my dirty floaty and wondered why I was wearing one flip flop.  I did the silent sob all the way home, I did not stop until I was in the shower.  Scott never said a word.  At home at least I know what to expect.  I know what objects mean, there are no surprises.  Someone grieving a shocking unexpected loss craves predictability.  I avoided my usual online conversations.  I watched 4 episodes of Big Brother.  I took a nap on the couch surrounded by my dogs.  All I could think about was how life was going on for everyone around me as it should.  But my life did not.  I am afraid it will never move forward.  I am afraid it will always hurt this much.  I am afraid everyone will forget Hayley.  I am afraid that with one of the loves of my life gone, that I have peaked.  I will never be as happy as I was prior to July 11th.  I am afraid I cannot be a good parent to Henry or wife to Scott.  All of this fear and pain is the sound of grief.

I don’t know how you can help.  I would truly ask if I knew.  I can only really hope by exposing my personal thoughts and exposing my grief that I can find the right words.  I hope these words find there way to someone else that may say something like “holy shit that is exactly how I feel”.  I am willing to try anything even if  it requires me scrubbing sand, duck shit and muck stains from my feet and body.