For me, the death of my child stripped me of so many personality characteristics while I emotionally shut down for awhile. My heart was so shattered, that the pain really overshadowed any other piece of me for quite some time.
I've watched friend after friend conceive thier "rainbow baby" (the cliche name for a live baby born after a loss. The beauty after the storm...) and feel conflicted with the new joy of expecting while still grieving. I'm choking back a bit of sarcasm as I write this. It's hard to feel sorry for those that are gifted with the only thing your heart screams for.
But that sarcasm resurfacing is my lifeline. As more and more of my spirit returns to me, everyone around me seems to have a comment. Some notice spunk, while others see it as bitchiness. Or I've heard my crazy is showing again, as well as I've become jaded or pessimistic.
But for those who take the time to ask me vs telling me how I'm feeling, they learn that I'm learning to cope with my new reality. If they listen long enough for me to finish a sentence, they hear in my voice the joy that still exists and the pain I will always carry.
But back to that sarcasm. In our household we juggle 3 adults and 2 cars. This leave me playing taxi service very, very often. If it's my husband who is being dropped off at work, almost everytime one of us will say "I'll buy you coffee" as we walk out the door. It's a crazy ritual that turns our commute into a coffee date.
Those rides are never silent. We talk the entire ride- often over each other. Sparing teasingly back and forth with a sarcasm that could easily be misread.
It wasn't always like that. For many months the ride went silent. I would be lost in thought, usually crying. It was often my first chance to put down the mask I wore at home. We held hands in silence, spoke just enough to acknowledge the other's existence, and struggled to hold it together. I would talk about CJ and he would listen.
Eventually some giggles started to return through the tears. We started daydreaming and even planning for the future again. And eventually, the sarcasm returned. Him commenting on my driving or me on his vocabulary. Silly little things that have become private jokes between us over the past 18 years. There's an intimacy in that dialog. It rolls of off our tongues as if we had our own language. There's a rhythm.
Comment, comment, giggle.
Comment, eyeroll, comment, comment
Comment, giggle comment. ..
It bounces quicker between us as my heart allows my brain to function more and more each day. That 22 min ride often does more for my soul that an hour in therapy.
I'm not the same. I never will be. And that is completely ok with me. I wish I had never been forced to survived losing a child, but CJ is completely worth the scar. I hope he giggles along as he sees his parents laughing over his mom retelling the story of being trapped in a thigh high snow drift at the cemetery because her stubborn heart needed to walk back to his stone, not see it from afar. Or dad describing a project at work that has him frustrated with coworkers.
In the end, all that matters is that the hearts that share my home recognize the return of the sarcasm, the laughter, and a desire to enjoy life. Everyone else making observations without listening, you are missing out.
Take some time for a coffee date with someone you care about this week. Let them finish a sentence. You may be the step in thier day that helps them find a bit of themselves deep down. #doitforcj
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