Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Just Call Me Shell-y
I'm like a chocolate Easter bunny. On the outside, I seem substantial, even festive at times. You admire the candy blue eyes and my bonnet, your mouth watering as you get ready to take that first bite, to learn my first tale of bunny-dom.
And then you find, when you've bitten off my ears, I'm hollow inside, a shell of my former self.
When Stef died, something in me died, too. My son complained to his father that I wasn't as strong as I used to be, that I cried all the time. That's true. There are nights in which I feel I'd like to carve her name into my skin with my own fingernails, when I feel that I'd like to will my heart to stop beating. And yet, as Sonny & Cher first declared, the beat goes on.
It's rough, being the mom who survives her child. Most days, I muddle through, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes there is almost a little skip in my step. And then I stumble on something. Often that something is invisible to everyone else. Picking myself up, I dust myself off and try to pretend the stumble didn't happen. It did, though. The stumble goes on and on and on, like I'm falling through an M.C. Escher drawing.
Many of you have been incredibly supportive, more so than I'm sure I deserve, but tonight is a bad night. It's an interminable night. It's a night that is full of memories and blame and guilt and worry.
All I can do is to endure it.
My son is wrong, though. I must be incredibly strong not to have already succumbed to this smothering grief.