Some people are worried about us. About me. I feel the concerned looks, the gentle unasked questions. And then, some of you have said it or written it to me. Make sure you grieve this loss. It's real. Are you grieving? How are you grieving?
You are right. It is important that we let this be a real loss and that we grieve it.
I ran into a bench today. It was dark, after class, and I was walking out with a friend and the bench was shin level and I just walked right into it. It hurt. If I had been with Andrew I might have screamed out loud, or maybe even collapsed to the ground in tears. But, seeing as I was with my friend who is not Andrew I just crossed my eyes in the darkness and made a joke about needing to be escorted so I don't fall down and waited until I got to the car where Andrew was waiting. Then I whined the whole way home about how much my shins hurt.
That's just how I work. I am generous with my joy and selfish with my pain or grief. I feel like sadness/loss/grief is one of the most real things a human being can experience. They are, in their way, sacred things. And sometimes when you talk too much about the sacred it becomes less special, it gets a little cheap. So I keep it to myself. I show it to my husband, who understands its depth even when I joke about it, who understands that it is sacred even if I whine, who is even more private than I am with his own present and real sadness.
But we're doing it. Grieving, I mean. A lost or dead dream isn't the same thing as a lost or dead person. And our dream, the general one where we are parents together of a unique and special beloved someone, is more alive than ever. It's just the specific dream -the one with that incredible head of hair, and the dry skin on her feet, and those perfect little lips - that dream is gone for us.
But I want you to know we're dealing with it. We're doing the process we need to be doing, separately and together.
It's just ours, is all. We don't share well, with something as precious as this.