It's like you're a fly on the wall at one of my therapy sessions...

...all kinds of random thoughts and realness.

The last two weeks-ish have been really great. Really, pretty fantastic compared to the six months preceding. I've had some particularly wonderful counseling sessions and integrated some very helpful new exercises from those sessions into daily life and my relationships. I've felt like I was making peace with more and more things. And just really- quite inexplicably- living in a happier, more steady place. A place where more things felt neatly tucked away and where thoughts and memories simply came - with no dread or fear or unbearable pain or confusion attached. A decent place to be. Dare I say, approaching normalizing and acceptance?

And then a few days ago "Kate Stuff" (as we call it for short around here) started creeping up on me. A few sad thoughts here, a memory there, a difficult decision that I just couldn't quite feel right about. Until one morning, I woke up quite a mess and quite back in that dark place. Where everything seems tragic and huge and unsolvable. It might as well have been the week that Kate was born for how I felt. How on earth had I been carrying on? How was I functioning so well? How was everyone else just going about their lives? Doesn't everyone remember what happened?! And I sobbed on Eric's chest in the dark like I haven't for months. Today everything doesn't feel quite as fresh as it did two days ago, but the shadow is still lingering and I'm not quite sure what to do about it. I've had thoughts and feelings this week that made no sense to me. Yet they were real. I've been confused and hated the way I've felt and just not been sure what to do. Boy, if there's one thing I've learned through all of this, it's that when someone is grieving just be gentle! Be patient and gentle and kind, for the love of all that is holy. Because they feel like they are drowning sometimes. And they hate it. Even more than you do.

I haven't written much of anything on here for a while. And what I have has been very intermittent. Along with the hard and messy thoughts, I've had other moments that I've really wanted to hop on and record - a holiday, something funny the girls did- a good week, a nice night, or even a few bright moments. The thing I have loved the most about our blog is that it's become a running journal of sorts (and eased my non- paper journal writing guilt!) and captured a lot of small moments that wouldn't have been captured otherwise. But I have had this odd quandary churning inside of me. Which I think I've finally figured out.  Lately I've really been toying with making the blog completely private - posting for myself only in order to record things and freewrite. One part of me really wants to post everything - the good and the bad. But another part of me fears taking on too much of the appearance of "normal" - whatever that is. But you know that superficial, polished, I'm taking-pictures-of-the-decorations-I-just-made type of place we all live in at times (myself included!) that is all smiles and awesome and breezing along? Because I realized that I think I have this subconscious fear that if I "move on" in this space, anyone reading will believe that I have "moved on" with the rest of life and am totally fine. And that they will "move on" as well. And also because I worry that people will categorize me in the "she's doing alright" space and expect that I'm there all the time and not know what to do/say/think/feel when I am very much not functioning or doing alright when those times wash over me.

It's an interesting thing. I've been observing things from my own experience and also read several articles written by parents who have lost children. There seem to be different categories the people close to someone in mourning fall into (and as my therapist pointed out - this is totally natural to an extent based on one's level of intimacy with the mourner).

• There's the outliers - people who the mourner cares about, but isn't that close with who step in for a time when things are fresh and urgent and then fade quickly back into their usual place. The help and care and concern are a beautiful, welcome gesture - somewhat unexpected, but appreciated.

• There's the people in an inner circle who step in at the beginning and then fade away as the months march on. They may also appear again from time to time - which is appreciated. This is all ok, too, because let's face it: there's just not that much time in life or room in the inner inner circles. (I guess this category probably has something to do with the mourner's expectations if we were really going to break it down and tear it apart. But for now, I'm not.)

• Then there's the people in a more inner circle who are there at the beginning - boy are they there! And they continue to be there to an extent as the months march on, but are uncomfortable with the mourner's grief. They are anxious to grab on to any sign of "ok" or "normal" and tell themselves that the mourner is pretty much over it, so they can stop worrying/praying/trying/talking/etc. They are waiting for the "old _________ (fill in the mourner's name here)" to come back. (I can speak candidly about this category because, unfortunately, I have been this person a lot in various people's lives.)

• And then there's the very few people who are really there. Of course they were there at the beginning. And they will be there on that random hard day twenty years from now when other people would look at the mourner like they are crazy. They don't always know what to say or do, but they try. They are consistent. They ask questions, use the name of the departed, talk sensitively, remember hard and happy days more often than not. They encourage and build with kind words and understanding, they don't pretend like nothing has happened, they are patient, and they give hugs. They are the really special friends who have the good judgment to ignore the mourner's polite (but forced and heart-wrenching) inquiry about their new baby and instead steer the conversation another way or bring up a funny memory. They are just a friend - in every best sense of the word.

That is one interesting and unexpected learning experience in the midst of all this. I have learned from many wonderful, selfless people in my life who have been wonderful friends and true Christlike examples. One of my weaknesses is that I am a list person and there is nothing that plagues me so much as an unchecked off list item. I have always been anxious to "check off" the box of so and so's hard time and my role as a friend or support person. Slowly I've been learning the hard lessons for myself. And learning from other people's examples. The people "check boxes" aren't really meant to be crossed off. It's a standing list. The old them- the old me- we are not coming back. Certain experiences in life change you and there's no going back. You'd think I would have learned that by now....

With great suffering comes change and refining and rebuilding. We are in it for the long haul and we need to be in it for the long haul with others. That's the whole point right? (The phrase "even until death" stood out to me for like the first time ever. 'Mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.... even until death' How was I missing that for so long?)

Anyways, there's a bunch of my random thinking-in-the-shower thoughts. I'm going to try to move forward in this space with more balance. Be gentle. And please understand that "moving on" is something that will never happen. But balance can happen. A little space for both the new happiness and the never too far off tender sadness that are mine.