Epicenter

I recently read an article on loss found here that really stuck with me. It's written by Katherine Schafler who is a NYC-based psychotherapist, writer and speaker. She writes that in order to truly work through your grief, you have to take yourself to the epicenter of the pain. You have to expose the protected layers you've numbed your heart with. It has to burn, it has to bleed, it has to be open. You have to go where your instincts fight going... You have to touch the pain, you need to feel it. 

I did this without really even thinking about it. It was a while ago, maybe a month or so. I was having a really off day, actually if I'm being honest, I was having a really off couple of weeks. Colton's birthday was coming up, and I had big plans. We usually never went to his grave on his birthday because we lived out of state or too far away. But this year we were home. We'd go to his grave with the kids and let balloon's go and sip a pepsi for him while we sat on the grass and we'd talk about memories of him. The kids could put their handprints on his stone and see how much they've grown. I even knew what color of balloon's I wanted to get and envisioned little hands letting them go and watching them float up into the blue sky, touching the cotton candy clouds as they disappeared out of sight. It would be a hard, but a bittersweet day. Well as it goes, life happened. A couple of days before his birthday, my two year old got sick. (Who gets sick in the summer?! Oh that's right, my kids always do) All plans changed as I was scrubbing barf off the carpets on my hands and knees. Feeling frustrated but without much choice, I chalked it up to we'd make it up there soon. The day's kept rolling into nights. Life kept throwing curveballs, like a broken arm for my son and an unexpected out of town work trip for my husband Dawson. Soon never came. On Colton's birthday I found myself alone. It was late. The kids were sprawled out on the couches in the living room watching a movie. I loaded a few more dishes in the dishwasher and stepped on popcorn and kicked toys out of the way as I headed to my bedroom. I text Dawson a goodnight text. I was exhausted and literally fell into bed. 

We didn't make it to his grave. 

Tears were brimming at the surface and I wasn't even sure why. I grabbed headphones and pushed them into my ears and turned on my lap top and pandora. Without even thinking I clicked the folder labeled "Colt's Pics." I saw this one.

and this one...

and this..

I have felt the pain of grief. There isn't a single day that I don't think about Colton. But when it gets too hard or goes too deep. I block it. I don't sit with the pain too long. So I don't normally look at these pictures, because it hurts too much. I get too close. When I get too close, I usually numb it. I make myself too busy to go there. But there I sat, my finger scrolling through hundreds of pictures from of him. When he was a baby, to when we met, to months before he died. And of course the song Chasing Car's by Snow Patrol instantly filled my ears. I closed my eyes and those brimming tears began to fall. There I was, in the epicenter of my own personal pain. With my eyes shut and the lyrics humming in my ears I saw Colton in the hospital bed. I saw myself draped across his chest. I felt the itchy material of his hospital gown against my cheek. I replayed the night before. The accident, the prescribed pain medicine, the fluorescent numbers on my phone, what time was it? The ambulance lights, the shallow breaths, the sterile smell, the doctors sneakers. The subtle print that read "Accidental Overdose." It all swam in my head and leaked out my eyes like a broken faucet. And I let it. I felt the pain burn through the numbness. I let it rip wide open. I felt sick, I felt like I couldn't breath, I felt regret, and fear, and gratefulness, and sadness, and joy. I felt it. All of it. 

In the epicenter of my grief I touched the pain that I had kept numbing, the pain that I have been in denial about. A truth that I can't change. For whatever reason, one that I may never know in this life, Colton took more pain medicine sometime in the night after his accident, causing his lungs to stop working, thus depriving his brain of oxygen. His brain went too long without oxygen, causing him to be pronounced braindead. 

That was my truth. 

Colton death was a result of an accidental overdose. 

That is my truth. 

I started my beautifully broken blog with hopes to be open, real, and vulnerable so I can keep healing and hopefully help others to heal. I can't do that unless I acknowledge the truth, and touch the pain. I can't touch the pain unless I choose too. I'm choosing to. Even the dark, scary places. I'm going there.

Colton's death changed me. It made my heart more. More open, more empathetic. More loving. More human. I see how much he hurt, how much he tried, how much he loved, and how much we lost when he died. 

I sat with the pain.

The song ended and the tears still fell. And I wrote this. It came from within the epicenter: 

I'm close. Look for me in the stars. Find me in a smile. Breath me in the fresh mountain air and carry me in the sun warming your skin. I'm close. You'll see my colors in the reflection of a cool summers stream. You'll feel me as the wind softly kisses your cheek. A restless heart is my rhythm. A clear sky is my peace. Crash with the waves, darlin'. Float with the leafs. Be still. Just be. I'm close.

I feel as if this was a gentle nudge. Almost like he whispered, it's time. 

You're ok.



Let go of it all



Move darlin'... it's time

That's ok darling, you are still healing

I was once told by a grief counselor that loosing someone you love is like carrying around a backpack you can't take off and your backpack is loaded with heavy rocks. At first the weight seems too much to bare, you are not sure how you'll go another step with it on. You plead to take it off, but you can't. It's yours, you have to bare it. With time, you get stronger. The weight is still the same, but you've learned to adjust to it. You've learned to carry it. And it becomes a part of who you are, and it's always with you. You might find people who put more rocks in your pack, or you might find people who help you take some out. I hope I can be the person who helps take some out. 

"Healing comes in waves and maybe today the wave hits the rocks,

and that's ok,

that's ok, darling

you are still healing,

you are still healing" 

- Ljeoma Umebinyuo

I've had days along my grief journey where the waves have hit the rocks, and it's painful and sharp. I've had days where the water gently kisses my feet and I appreciate the beauty of its peaceful rhythm. I have had days where the waves crash over me, striping me of all I have and leave me gasping for air as I fight to find solid ground.  I have had days where I am neither drowning nor standing still, I am just...

here.

And it's ok. 

Because I am still healing. 

So let me carry those rocks and let the waves come as they may, 

because I am still feeling, I am still healing, and that is ok.