The Tornado of Grief and Loss

Sometimes words escape me and I can't really describe how I feel and yet I have this need to get it out of me.  At times like that, I turn to drawing, albeit terrible drawings, to try to sort out how I feel.

The day before my husband was diagnosed with leukemia was a perfect day.  (Okay, maybe not perfect.)  But the months leading up to his diagnosis were perfect.  He had just come home from his second twelve month deployment to Afghanistan.  We were moving to a new duty station from which he would not deploy for at least three years.

We watched an episode of Monk most nights together.

We were finally enjoying time together without the angst of another deployment hanging over our heads.

In short, life was good.

And then he was diagnosed with leukemia and it seemed as though a tornado had begun to rip through our lives.

I was shocked and the tornado only seemed to grow larger.

And once the tornado was done ripping apart the fabric of our very lives, I was left alone still wondering what had just happened.

And I still wonder.

And then people asked me how I am doing, and I still could not believe what I had just seen and what remained of my life, this awful terrible mess.

And I can see the mess, but I don't think anyone else can see it because they say things like, "You're over this now, right?" and "You should be okay by now."

And then they leave and I see this life that was once so beautiful and now just a terrible mess, and I wonder, "How could you even say that to me?"

How can you not see this mess?!

How could you think that everything would be okay by now, just a few months afterward?

Why can't you see that my life has been irrevocably changed?

Why can't you see that it takes more than a few months to rebuild a lifetime of dreams?

Why can't you see that I can't just sweep this under the rug?

Why can't you see what I see?

Where I'm At

As I was making oatmeal this morning, the water boiled and popped, splashing hot oatmeal on my forearm.  I quickly ran it under cold water and the pain passed rather quickly.  I continued with the breakfast preparations and forgot about the incident.

An hour later, as I was preparing the bathtub for the baby, I stuck my arm under the running water.  The temperature was fine but as the water trickled down my forearm the intense pain came back.  I pulled my arm out as quickly as I could.  It took a moment for me to remember and figure out why my arm was hurting.

That is where I'm at in the process of healing.  I'm okay.  My days aren't incredibly bad, nor are they over joyous.  They're just okay.

But every once in a while I will see something or hear something that will bring back the searing pain.

And then I have to run to the bathroom and run my forearm under cold water again.

I can't think of any examples as of late, but quite a few weeks ago I took Jumping Bean-7 to the baptism open house that our stake was putting on for all of the children that will turn eight this year.

We looked at the white baptismal suits and I told Jumping Bean how he would wear that when he was baptized.  And then I overheard the woman standing next to us talking to her daughter, "You'll wear one and Daddy will wear one too..."

Can we go home now?  I thought.  "Let's go look at the baptismal font and then we can go.  Okay?"

I guess I needed to rush home to put some cold water on my forearm.

I'm okay now.