I was recently asked if I could describe my
grief as a weather pattern what would it be. The idea gave me pause and a
good inner chuckle. I considered my answer while a myriad of thoughts was
flooding my mind.
Maybe a tsunami? Does that count as a weather pattern? I don't think so. Maybe those times that low- and high-pressure systems come together? A thunderstorm with atrocious thunder and lightning, but then all of a sudden it is over? A sun shower on an otherwise beautiful day? A lightning storm? An Arizona Monsoon, where it comes in quickly and leaves just as fast? How do I answer this question?
I began to speak but as I always feel when it comes to trying to put my grief into words, I stumbled over my words. I feel like I am in a state of confusion. I feel like my weather pattern is all over the place, but the trickiest part is that I am not even aware of what it may be or could be until it is actually happening. I feel lost in a horrible storm and wish someone would join me in it, but I want to be in the storm by myself, so I don't really want anyone around. I want to ignore the way the rain comes out of nowhere and how loud the thunder is and how scary the lightning is. I wish I could have a personal meteorologist, someone to give me some warning over what potentially could be on the horizon and how long it may last. Maybe then I could give warnings to others so they would know the right thing to do.
The truth is unless you truly live with the grief of losing a child it is hard to conceptualize the complexity of the inner turmoil. The panic of the world forgetting your child, the guilt over not wanting to think about your child, the fear over someone overstepping but the sadness of them not taking any steps at all or not enough. For me personally, the weather pattern is not quite known, but one thing is for certain, it is always, always, unpredictable.