Saturday, June 02, 2007

Grief

This grief is a funny thing. It seems to come and go like the tides. One day I will be perfectly fine and then there are other days when it just sort of hits me out of the blue - I have a daughter. My daughter died! She is gone forever. I can never hold her again.

I read a blog the other day where she describes so perfectly the way grief progresses. (Delphi, I hope you don't mind me borrowing a bit from your blog) . The first, I would say, 8 months after Kendra died were like being blanketed in thick fog. It weighs you down, slows you down and you cannot see through it. There are days when it thins out a bit and you can see a bit further and days when you can't see your hands. After 8 months the fog had lifted to a degree but I missed it, I wanted it back. It felt like if the fog wasn't there then I was forgetting. Well, I blamed this on the ADs I was taking so I stopped them (against the advice of professionals). I must say the first month was tough. That old fog threatened to overwhelm me. Now it has thinned out again, not lifted entirely, but I can see a bit further (at least as far as Table Mountain!). I still have my heavy fog days and moments (especially when around babies and toddlers) but that is fine, I don't want them to go away. I even have some clear days where the fog lifts totally but I know it is always there, waiting to roll in from the ocean and that is ok. There were also many, many days in the beginning where that fog turned to icicles and really pelted me with ice. Stinging, painful ice. That also still happens although the icicles are perhaps not as sharp now, though now and again a really sharp one does surprise me at the oddest moments.

6 comments:

Rosepetal said...

I think it is a key aspect, the not really wanting the fog to go away. The line of thought of "how and why should life go on when my child is dead? It should stop shouldn't it?" Getting to wish that the fog would go away for a day instead of it becoming somehow, I don't know, comforting, must be the first step. I am glad for you for the days when the fog lifts.

Tony said...

I met someone the other day who lost their daughter 5 years ago, and he says it has changed him fundamentally, and he never forgets. This was a big burly ex-security guard (his daughter was killed by a getaway car from a robbery coming through a red light). I guess it just brought home to me that those of us who have not lost a child cannot imagine what it must be like. And I have been reading your blog regularly, hoping to see a day when you could say that things were a bit milder somehow, so this post is great for us to see. I know it will never go away, but at least some of the rawness is gone.
Tony, Kirsten & Carly

Lucy said...

Just a reminder that we're always here for you if you need. Sending lots of love and big hugs, Me XX

Kerry said...

Often when there's fog and clouds, we can still see the sun shining through, however faintly. It's our choice whether we look down and shiver in the cold, or lift our heads to catch a glimpse of the sun. When the clouds begin to part, and the sunbeams shine through, one can often see a rainbow, a reminder, of beauty - that couldn't be there without the sun....or the clouds.

clarissa said...

thinking of gathry today on father's day. love c+c xxx

Kendra's Dad said...

Thank You, Clarissa. I would also like to thank everybody around us who are continually showing their support in some form or another. Yesterday was the second Father’s Day since Kendra passed away and I am still lost in a world of why’s. While I’m wondering in my world, my son is not getting the father’s attention he deserves. Note to self: After you have lost a child you are still a Father.

 
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