During the month of April, I am taking on the Blogging from A to Z challenge, writing twenty-six alphabet themed grief notes.
On August 17, 2017 my twenty year old son was killed in a car wreck. I am trying to be OK . . . we are all trying to be OK ... in a world where nothing is OK. I am reaching for what I know heals me ... creativity ... art ... writing. Stringing together words, thoughts, and questions.
I've never been good at asking for help.
I've got this.
I can do it.
I don't need nobody.
( while simultaneously reaching for community but that's a post for another day )
I think I learned a bad lesson that people would disappoint you
I absorbed the message that hardships in life were to be endured
I have always felt like I have to take care of others so I have never asked for help for myself
asking for help is vulnerable and to be avoided at all costs
until you are on the side of the road, sobbing into the phone,
"I don,t know what to do. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do"
Until you are walking up the driveway and your children meet you there, surrounding you, and you are reaching for them as much as they are reaching for you.
until you are so grateful for the friend who showed up anyway despite your saying you didn't need anything because that's your default
Until she drives from Atlanta and together they walk into your house with calm presence and food
and the next day rose cardamon lattes and boxes of pastries
until food arrives on your doorstop for two more weeks
Within the first two or three days after Noah died, I told my children that people would not know how to be with them; that they would have to clearly ask for what they needed. If they needed silent company, if they needed to talk about Noah, if they needed distraction ... they would have to ask for the help they needed.
It's so difficult though.
The months have gone on and I've stopped asking because think I know less of what I need than I did at the beginning.
It's gotten a little bit lonely lately.
I write silent words.