I Knew I was Getting Better When…
February 24th, 2011
I KNEW I WAS GETTING BETTER
Almost all if not all, of you are here because you are seeking ways to get past the pain of losing somebody you loved better than yourself. Well, that pain will eventually become a part of who and what you are, and you will learn to live with it. I haven’t found a way to totally make it go away, but it certainly is nice to know that it does get better, and it doesn’t have to consume a large part of every day. I can’t tell you exactly when I reached that point, but I do know I welcomed it because it allowed me to get on with my life.
In order to get to that place I had to learn to give up some thoughts that had become a familiar way of thinking and looking at things. All those feelings had seemed a justification for all the pain I had been through. It turned out they weren’t a justification at all. They were more like a heavy weight around my neck that held me in that mindset that didn’t allow room for my recovery.
After some time, just a few simple things helped me to start my life in a different direction. I realized that I was getting better when my tears were no longer an all day affair. Oh, I still shed them all along but I’d move around and risk something else getting my attention but I no longer sat all day bemoaning all that I had lost.
I knew I was getting better when I realized who I had just left was just as important as who I had lost. This realization came to me not too long after my son died. I had invited a psychiatrist in the Atlantic area to speak at a meeting just before Mother’s Day. He had not lost a child but shared the story of how he and his two younger siblings had been denied any joy for life from their mother who had experienced the premature loss of her first two children. He told of how most of his young life had been spent trying to find ways to make his mother happy, always trying and always failing, and always feeling that it was his fault for failing.
I came home that night determined that my surviving daughter was not, many years down the road, going to lament the fact, no matter how hard she had tried, she was unable to create any joy in my life. I recognized her importance.
I knew I was getting better when I realized that guilt that I felt for the responsibility for my son’s death was not legitimate. I had such foolish thoughts that said if I hadn’t invited him over for dinner that night, he wouldn’t have been where his accident occurred. It was all my fault. It took some time for me to realize that, if I hadn’t invited him over for dinner that night, he would have had his accident some place else, and I would have felt guilty for that. It was a no win situation. Feelings of guilt were not helping and I could let go of them.
I knew I was getting better when I was also able to let go of the anger that had plagued me since my son’s death. You know, anger really does eat the container in which it is held. My greatest anger was directed toward my two best friends. When I was able to sit back and think about the relationship with them both long and hard, I realized that my part of the friendship with one of them was for me to listen to her problems time and again, but when I needed her to listen to mine, it was then I knew she didn’t haven’t the depth of character to understand what I was going through.
I knew too, that telling her would not magically make her aware. It was my decision to let go of her. The other friend I felt was worth a try, even though I had written her and told her about my pain and my need for her support to no avail. So, when she called me one day long distance, she said, “Mary, I think you’re angry with me.” I said, “oh yes. Do you want to talk about it on my nickel or yours?” She said, “Mine.” So I told her how miserable she had failed me.
She cried and said she was so sorry, that she had no idea how bad it was for me. I told her she still didn’t know, that I had given her an inkling of how bad it was, but I didn’t ever want her to fail anyone else that she cared for so miserable again, and I forgave her and let go of the anger for both of them.
I knew I was getting better when I learned that me misfortune was one of the worst, but it wasn’t the only worst.
I knew I was getting better when I learned, because one bad thing has happened, it doesn’t give me an immunity to other bad things, so I’d better appreciate what’s left for me.
I knew I was getting better when I learned that man is not made so that he hurt with the intensity of fresh grief forever, that it will eventually get better whether you want it or not. Not as good as it was before, but better than fresh grief.
I knew I was getting better when I learned not to go to dry wells looking for water. People who don’t understand your needs are like dry holes. They have nothing to offer you in the way of sustenance.
I knew I was getting better when I learned that helping others who had been unfortunate enough to lose a child was the most helpful thing I could do for myself.
When I had learned all of these things, that was when I knew I was getter better.
Did I say back that these changes were simple? Looking back, they weren’t simple at all, but certainly worth striving for, learning these things are the best and kindest things you do for yourself. I assure you that it will be worth the effort when you can say ” I’M GETTING BETTER.”
Mary Cleckley
~reprinted from Bereaved Parents USA, JOURNEY TOGETHER NEWSLETTER
A BEGINNING
One day you wake up and realize that you must have survived it because you are still here, alive and breathing. But you don’t remember infinitely small steps and decisions you took to get there. Your only awareness is that you have shed miles of tears on what seems to be an endless road of sorrow.
One day – one glorious day- you wake up and feel your skin tingle again, and you forget just for an instant that your heart is broken …and it is a beginning.
Susan Borrowman TCF Kingston, Ontario
We forget the people we laugh with; but we never forget the people we cry with.
Kahlil Gibran