From the Corner of My Eye

It's amazing to me the way the human mind finds ways to cope with grief. Seven months after Josh's death he is still the first thing in my mind when I wake, the last thing I think of before I sleep and often he rules my dreams as well. Yet, somehow, it's almost as if he's in my peripheral vision rather than directly in my line of sight. My mind has forced itself to redirect, refocus, and somehow cope with a loss otherwise incapacitating. I suspect I would not be here if that were not the case.

Most of the time, I'm fully aware of keeping my focus on life while thoughts of Josh hover close by. I can't bring myself to look (mentally and phsically) straight at him very often or I am completely unable to function. His ashes sit on my dresser with his picture hanging over them and I pass them at least twenty times a day and yet I rarely look at them. It comforts me to know they are there if I want to look at them, but to actually stop and do so is impossible without losing my composure. So I pass by, say the frequent "Hi Josh, I love you". and move on. By no means does this mean I don't think of him constantly, it simply means I cannot always indulge myself with a cry fest and so I keep him at a distance. Like when he was little, playing, and I was trying to get something done. I would keep him in the corner of my eye. Always aware of him, but not letting him be my primary focus at the moment. Now, even though he isn't little anymore, and he isn't here for me to watch over, I keep him in the corner of my mind's eye. The thing I'm trying to get done is living. Without him. Not focusing directly on him allows me to do this, albeit poorly.

Having said that, it also never ceases to amaze me how blindsided I can be when I am caught unawares by my grief. On those occasions it is like no time has passed and his death was only yesterday. Just when I'm going along as smoothly as I possibly can, faceing my grief, with at least a grasp on what it takes to get through the day, I find a new aspect of life that will never be the same without him. Each time that happens, I nearly double over in pain. I find myself crying, without the ability to stop, regardless of where I am.

That happened to me Friday. I work with a young man whose name is also Josh and I called his name the other day. Without thinking I said it the way I always said it when I was calling my Josh. You know, that silly lilting way I suspect all mothers have for their children when they are just trying to get their attention but don't really need anything...... Josshhh-U-aaaaaaa.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I haven't called his name in seven months. I've said it...Josh....Joshua. His name is said as often now as it ever was, but I haven't called it through the house. I haven't been able to call him with that lilt, the rise and fall of my voice, the drawing out of the letters, the way only I called him when I was eager to show him something, excited to tell him something. I haven't had the security of knowing he was in the next room, hearing his voice answering back .... Yeah,Mom?... What's up Madre'? (Madre' and Mamasita were his terms of endearment for me... no clue why. *shrug*) The tears started flowing and wouldn't stop. There was, for a while, no buffer of time since he died. My mind was unable to keep him to the side, instead he and his death was all there, in my face. No chance to prepare myself, no way to avoid... Just pure naked grief. Fortunately, it was right at the end of my shift so I was able to leave. I sobbed all the way home and then some. Sobbed, not cried.

I can't even begin to explain why one day is worse than another or what does and doesn't have the potential to make me melt down. There are chinks in my armor, but it's hard to examine it and find them while wearing it. I don't know what the triggers are going to be in order to brace myself against them. I want to be able to avoid those moments because while in the midst of them they are terrifying in thier intensity. Their ability to derail and incapacitate....to hurt... is incredible. It's feels hopeless to try and live with the pain. my guts might as well be scooped out with a rusty spoon through a wound that has barely begun to heal. The thought of it always being this way, never reaching a point of not being blindsided makes me want to quit. Just quit.

Enough of that....

I suppose the point of this rambling post is the fact it's Mother's Day. I needed to take a few minutes to look directly at Josh. To allow myself my grief, to willingly focus on him and let the pain wash over me. I needed to be with all of my children today, in one capacity or another. This is my first Mother's day without his presence, but there will never be one without his memory. There is a piece of me missing which will never be with me again. There are so many, many facets of my life which will never be the same. God, how I miss him.

Now, I will dry my tears and set my thoughts of Josh to the side. For the rest of today, I will glance at him, but only from the corner of my eye. I will remember I am still a mother and need to do whatever is neccesary in order to be a good mother to Tanner and Rebecca. They are also grieving. They need their mother. They need ME.

Whoever the hell that is.