The Pit

Has anyone ever figured out the medical cause of the pit? By the pit, I mean that horrible, gripping, sinking, frantic feeling that radiates from the center of your torso when you realize something horrible has happened. The pit hit hard on Saturday morning and despite distraction, company, church, and a wonderfully, ignorantly cheerful baby, it hasn't receeded. It's as if something is sitting on my chest every waking minute.

Best I can figure, my body was in shock and functioning on autopilot for the first week. There was so much to do and think about that even in the moments when I would shut down, the pain was still held at bay by my own defense mechanisms. Saturday was the first day that I woke up and had nothing to do. Sure, I had a baby to care for and thank you cards to write, but I didn't have Dalton. And, it was real. It's real as I write this and feel the sob building up from the pit looking for someplace to escape. Crying in this situation is so much more than tears. The pressure is so great, that it's vocal and angry and physically painful. I remember seeing people sob in the movies and think, "No one cries that way." And then, I experienced it firsthand. Thankfully, the crying episodes are just that - episodic. Most of the time, I just live in constant awareness of the pit.

Our friend Eric (it's going to take a long time before I stop saying our) has been staying with me and it has been a bit of a double-edged sword. I've really appreciated the company and he's been a tremendous help around the house, but something feels wrong. Eric has stayed with us before and it's always been great, but this time it's just awkward. I don't know how to explain it except to say that the only man who should be alone in the house with Iain and me is Dalton. And, the only man who should be having lunch with me and carrying my baby and pushing the stroller and strapping him in to the carseat is Dalton. I've found myself almost hostile at times saying, "I'll get him." and "No, I don't want you to cook steaks. That's what Dalton cooks." And Eric isn't doing anything my girlfriends wouldn't do if they were here, but because he's a guy, it upsets me. So, while it's been really good to have him here, I suspect after he heads home tomorrow, that it will be quite a while before I venture out with any of my guy friends on my own.

I'm going to keep blogging for now and hope that some of you keep reading. With that in mind, I want to say a few things.

Dalton and I always imagined a happy ending to this story. He was going to recover. We were going to cooks steaks on the patio, go to baseball games, fly kites, and play with our grandkids. We were going to share our story of hope with others. This was not the way it was supposed to go. And, emotionally, I really wish I could end my own story here too. But I can't, so now I have to discover another ending. This is not a story whose arc I already know, so I don't know the path it will take to arrive at an ending or even how I'll know that I've reached it. I suspect that the next few chapters will be sad and depressing and generally yucky and if no one wants to read this anymore, I understand. However, I also know that at some point in life, most people will lose someone they love. And, maybe reading my struggle with finding a new ending or even a new beginning to my life will someday help someone else do the same. With that in mind, I will do my best to share this process with you as openly and honestly as I can.

And, let me start by clarifying that the five stages of grief as defined by Kubler Ross (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) do not all happen in a nice neat little progression. It's more like an onslaught of all five at different times of the day. So, when you read one post that represents all five stages, just know that I am not an anomaly. I'm normal and real and at a loss, just sharing my life.