Formidable

Another loss mom and I were talking awhile back. It was after an interaction where she was called all sorts of crazy names, like brave, strong, and courageous.

Normally people would like to hear those things about them. When you're a loss mom, though, it somewhat feels like no one understands. They see brave and you feel like a coward. They see strong and you feel weak. They see courageous and you feel so timid.

Loss can often make you feel like a fraud. You're living this life you're supposed to live, yet you're going through the motions. You are putting on this face and standing tall on the mountain proclaiming victory when it's really just a little hill, maybe a pile of dirt, and dragging yourself up has left you out of breath, exhausted, and completely broken.

We brainstormed for awhile on what adjective really fit. And she came up with formidable. And suddenly this word took on so many facets of loss for me it felt like a missing puzzle piece had slid into place and the crowds cheered and the angels sang and for once something made sense.

First, loss is a formidable opponent. It causes fear and dread. It commands respect. It is difficult to defeat or overcome. Loss can own you. It creeps up in the darkest moments, when your mind is still, and it seeps fear into your mind. Sadness and pain is difficult to overcome as it makes a permanent home inside your heart. Loss is relentless. You cannot escape it. Forever it will have a hold on you and will change every moment of your life. There is no other obstacle or opponent we face in our life quite as formidable as loss.

But we are formidable opponents, too. When others say we are brave and strong and courageous they are admiring our tenacity and are in awe of our drive and ability to pick up when they may have stayed down. We are giants as we conquer each day, disabled and broken, yet pushing forward and carrying ourselves through even when it's daunting. Some other impressive quality? The ability to empathize, commiserate, and compassionately love others when we are hurting, too. To unite in pain and live, breath, and thrive on the life that broke us and mends us all the same. We stand up, we crawl up the dirt mound, sometimes dragging ourselves along. But we do it.  Because we are formidable opponents and loss will not break us.

I am not strong. I am not brave. Oh I am such a coward and so weak and frail. But I am formidable and I will fight on with grace, hope, and love knowing that while I am broken I am also perfectly blessed and that my weakness is my strength. While some days are harder than the last, and the next may be easier than the best, every day we slide on our gloves, jump in the ring, and fight another day.

We are formidable. And we will survive.

Surviving

Sometimes I feel like that's all we are really doing in this world. Just surviving another day.  Waking to face the challenges, and lucky to lay our head down at night and do it all again the next day.

I have so many friends going through the hardest of times right now.  Separations, parental loss, miscarriage ... People struggling to find their way in this crazy world, not sure where to turn or what to do next ...

We all have our struggles and we all have our grief. I don't know that I have a single friend or acquaintance who hasn't, at some point, thought "will I survive this?".  The situations vary, the source of the struggle never quite the same ... but grief is pretty universal.

Sometimes I wonder if I have survived Colton's death.  I mean, I'm still breathing. I'm still functioning. I have a job I perform at daily, and great kids that I competently care for, and complete the day-to-day needs to live.  But did I really survive?

Last night I had the weirdest array of dreams.  I had dreams of happy days with Brian, before we lost Colton. I had dark dreams of after Colton (and even woke in a post-Colton signature cold sweat and panic attack).  I had dreams of what could have and should have been, and dreams of what I hope will be. 

I woke up thinking "Did I survive?".  Did I ... really? No.  The person that was before Colton long died.  She is but a memory.  An unattainable mystical being of many moons past.

And I look at my friends, as they are facing their own struggles and devastation. And I see that I'm not alone. I see that parts of them have been broken beyond repair. I know, as I watch them struggle, that they will not be the same on the other side.

Will they survive, in the literal context of waking up tomorrow and continuing forward?

Yes, I suppose they will. 

But when forced to survive we are never the same.  In order to survive we must change, must adapt, must leave behind something in order to move forward.  Sometimes we come out stronger immediately. Sometimes it takes a lot of mistakes, a lot of collateral damage, a lot of "what the fuck happened" before we get there.

I didn't survive Colton's death.  Nothing survived Colton's death.  But I will keep surviving life without him. I will be okay. We will all be okay. Just never, ever, the same.