the Pain and the privilege of love

I went to another funeral this week. That’s 3 funerals in 5 weeks. Isn’t there some sort of cosmic law about this? If not, please allow me to go ahead and say for the record that there should be. In talking with my therapist about this, she shared with me about cumulative grief. This is when you don’t have time to process one before another occurs. Yep, that’s it. That is happening. Also, we can add traumatic grief to this list. What is it? It’s hell. Hell on Earth. Overwhelming, all consuming, painful, scary, it’s an unseen injury. And because it’s unseen…you do not feel seen. I do not feel seen. I feel alone. I think Chris feels alone sometimes. I think the kids feel alone. I think the extended family feels alone. People reach out. We hear them. We feel them. We are still lonely. There is no fault. This is not about someone doing enough or not enough. It’s about grief. It’s about our nervous systems being overloaded and under prepared for these losses.

I wish I could put on a t-shirt that can be programmed with a message about what’s happened that day. Last Friday my shirt would have read, “I found out today my stepson was killed by someone selling fentanyl disguised as Xanax”. It would have also said, “Today I found out the police were asked to check on Zach and there is no record they did”. Monday would have said, “Today we are wondering when the dealer will be caught and charged with homicide by dealer, if ever”. Monday would have also said “My heart is heavy today for my cousin who lost his father and his children who lost their grandfather”. Wednesday it would have said, “Why are the authorities we are reaching out to not responding to us?”.

Amid our grief, we are seeking justice for our child and all children of all the parents who have cried out “why??????”. Zach had 9 times the lethal dose of Fentanyl in his system and no other illicit drugs. We do not know much; therefore, we are keeping the cards close to our vest until we have further knowledge. But what we DO know is that Zach deserves justice and it’s up to us to fight for him since he is not here to fight for himself.

Everyone is fighting some kind of hard fight. Some people are losing loved ones while dealing with a serious illness of their own. Some people are taking care of others while experiencing deep grief. Life is hard, we know that. Right now, it feels like a tsunami. Giant, crashing waves have destroyed life as we knew it…but wait…here comes another wave, it’s smaller but brings in more water with it…more damage. My family also lives in that damage. Some find footholds temporarily but then they lose it and struggle in the waters. Sometimes I lose my footing…then I’m in the water struggling and wanting to help but I am far into my own thoughts, and the grief and sadness of the moment. The stress of this is exhausting. The constant in and out of fight or flight is crushing.

I’ve thought about this a lot. People say to you…” I would die if something happened to one of my kids”. But here’s the thing…you don’t. You don’t die. You don’t get to go to bed and sleep for 6 months or a year either. In our case, we are looking for justice which is adding another layer of trauma. But even if that was not occurring, we have three other kids who need us. We have extended family to care for. I’ve had to process two subsequent deaths of people I love. You don’t die. I’d love to now offer some great wisdom. “What do you do Mandy?”. I don’t know. “What are you doing Mandy”. I am here. Living through this is somehow a gift, I know that. What is the gift? I don’t know yet. Here is the only wisdom I can offer to me and anyone else. We've done hard things before. For me it is surviving my childhood with a heart that still loves others, it is embracing infertility after a long bitter fight with a heart that is still soft toward children, it is choosing to keep my heart soft when the ways of the world seek to harden it. I know everyone has their cross…but right now mine feels extra heavy. My heart is still soft, but my boundaries are becoming hard. I must wall myself off from some things, I feel this is a natural reaction to living in hell. Someday I know I will emerge…a phoenix rising…beautiful and rare and forged from the fires of the pain and privilege of love.