Day 101

"Grief is not measured by the quantity of our tears." 

Several of my posts have centered around my feelings of guilt. Guilt for not being more distraught. Guilt for enjoying myself more than seems appropriate. For laughing. For spending big chunks of my day not thinking about Damian. And on and on and on. 

I bawled my eyes out the day Damian died and a few times thereafter, but on the whole, my eyes have remained dry. Because I'm often with Dawn when she succumbs to the unbearable weight of Damian's absence, I feel guilty that I can't express my grief in the same way...

During this morning's counseling session, Andrea was praising Dawn and I on how well we are doing. She said that we are handling our situation better than most in terms of our progress and acceptance of our circumstance. She attributed much of what we've accomplished to our diligence with writing every day and talking to each other, as husband and wife, about how we feel. About what has happened, how we are doing now and where we want to be, emotionally, physically, etc. Coming from Andrea, this felt like high praise. She has been around grief in all its many forms for the better part of her adult life and career; her life's mission to help those like me (and Dawn) to find my footing after my world was turned upside down. There was nothing extraordinary in what she said; it was a simple observation and professional validation from an exceptional counselor. But it did feel really good hearing those words...for about 5 seconds. At which point the positive feelings evinced by Andrea's kind words were kicked to the curb by another onslaught of guilt. 

"How can I be doing so well? I just lost my only son. Maybe the 'curled up in a ball, unable to function' self-projection is overblown, but still. I shouldn't be this ok with it. Not yet." Andrea saw the change in my expression and asked what I what had just felt. After unburdening myself about the guilt that consumed me yet again, she looked at me said these words: "Grief is not measured by the quantity of our tears." It took a few seconds to process, but drop the mic. It was like a slap upside the head. 

Everyone, myself included (duh!), process grief differently. Just because I don't weep or tear up on a regular basis does not diminish my pain or my sense of loss. I'm just processing it in ways that are not as well known or as easy to portray on the big screen. I've been angry, sad, melancholy, despondent, ok, not ok and a host of other things. Experiencing things and feelings that I would not have felt if not for the life-altering tragedy of losing Damian. Looking at the sum total of all the emotions I've experienced, the persistent feeling of being less than whole, the fleeting moments of sadness that go through me like an invisible zephyr, I see my grief and grieving for what it is: mine and mine alone. Having said that, I know that guilt, my guilt, is also a part of this. It's neither good or bad; it just is. 

But grieve I do. Grieve I must.