A Summer Storm

I woke up tired. Isn't that crazy? I went to bed about midnight I think after hours of watching HULU t.v. shows. I went to sleep very quickly and slept all night But I'm tired. The sunny Monday has ended in a stormy night.

I'm sorry if my post yesterday upset anyone or caused you to worry. They told me to write what I was feeling and what was happening to me during this process. Sometimes, it is all I can do or I'd be in a corner pulling my hair out.

One of my friends came on and chatted with me last night and apologized for not "being a good friend". I was shocked because I talk to her at least two or three times a week online! Alice's sister died a couple of years ago and she understands a lot of what I'm dealing with and she has been very good to keep in touch. But she does live 4 hours away.

We don't actually "know" each other on sight but I believe we've become friends in the more than three years we've been conversing and she's been reading my novel. Still, I don't expect her to be able to run over to pat me on the head. It is enough that she talks to me and she makes me laugh. It helps that she actually cares and says so.

It is the same with all of you who have stopped by here to leave notes, send emails, PM's and the like. You may not feel you are helping but really, even though I know what I write is often excruciating to read, you still show up and you still leave a note just saying you're here and holding my cyber hands. There are times when that is all I have had.

Realistically, I know there is no one who can walk me through this. I know there is nothing anyone can say but sometimes listening is all that is required. Sometimes we just need to be able to lean against something until we get our feet back under us. In this place, where I live, you learn that talking is not always possible but something to cling to may be the thing that saves you. A lifeline in a storm requires no words.

I met with Dan, the counselor today. First time in a month. He asked again how I was and I was at a loss. I don't know. I'm fine. I'm o.k. Finally, foundering, I pulled out the copy of yesterday's post, saying, "I knew you would ask me so I brought this." I read it to him. Honestly, even I was scorched by the words and they were where I was yesterday. I'm still there today but the intensity of it is gone. I feel better because I lanced the wound.

What did he say? "Wow." He agreed I probably felt better because I got it out of me.

He asked me why I made my journal public. Did I want people to see it?

I told him I had considered keeping it private but had decided that people should, no needed to know what this is like. They need to know it is not a joke. It is not an exaggeration. It is not a bid for attention. It is not melodrama. It is raw, gut-wrenching pain that hits you over and over and over and when you think it is finished, it blindsides you all over again. And you sit in your house alone and there is no one to call, no one to sit with you, no one to hold your hand. You scream at walls and ceiling and pull your hair and beat your pillow with your fists. You demand an explanation from the silence that has built around you like stone walls. You tear at the stones to get at the truth only to find that there is only that darkness on the other side. Dark, dark, deafening silence.

People should know that the next grief stricken person you meet is very likely living this. They may smile or laugh at your joke but when they walk away, they are stabbed with a memory that sends them reeling. You need to know that their pain is real and you may be the only person between them and the darkness that threatens to swallow them up.

I told him I was tired of not saying what I felt, of sparing other people's feelings when mine were raw meat. I told him I had learned a lot about compassion and about people since Jerry died, particularly people who have "ministries". What I've learned is disappointing to me and is not pretty for them.

I am tired of people who are uncomfortable with my grief. We are supposed to feel and we are supposed to feel for other people. We all, I include myself, spend enormous amounts of time trying to avoid knowing about other people's pain. We don't want to talk about it, acknowledge they are hurt. We make the excuse that "Oh, I don't want to upset them!"

Bovine excrement! That's the nicest way to put it even though the impact would be greater with the courser phrase.

We don't want to be burdened with caring or put to the trouble of holding someone's hand while they fall apart. Think about it. If I say I care and they reach out to me, the burden is then on me to respond with an action. I might have to do something! Or even worse... I'll have to actually feel something human! If I avoid them and say nothing, maybe they'll know I care and just let me live my life with nothing required of me. Let's not make me uncomfortable! I'll just pray for them! That'll do the trick!

Yes, that's pretty much the gist of what I told him. He listens well. Then it started to storm and I smiled and told him I loved storms. He asked me why. I said they make me feel good.

He told me that wasn't an answer. What about storms did I like? What did they make me feel? I told him I liked the thunder and lightening. No, what was it about a storm that made me feel good... why did it make me feel good. I said I didn't know. I liked them. They were awesome. I liked the earthshaking, blinding lightening, pouring rain storms. The kind that shake everything. He smiled then.

I told him about a trip we took years ago in a terrific storm. There is a post called Out Running the Storm that relates that night. He insisted that I need to figure out what it was about a storm that I liked. What was it about the storms that made me feel good. I couldn't tell him.

He told me I spend a lot of time in my head. Yes, I laughed too. It means I don't talk about what I'm feeling. That's true. But I write it very well. Even Alice told me that... for free! Why? I have an ability to write what I feel because there is no barrier there. I let the barriers down in my writing. I need, apparently, to find a way to talk about what I feel and why. He asked again, "So, what is it about thunderstorms that make you feel good? Why? Is it spiritual or emotional or what?"

I looked at him, laughed and finally said, "I don't know. No one has ever asked me that specific question. When I say I love storms everyone always just looks at me and tells me I'm crazy." I told him I would sit in an open field in a thunderstorm if it wasn't dangerous but that I wasn't stupid. I told him I wanted to stop in that storm long ago and watch the lightening strikes all around us. Jerry said I was crazy and we didn't stop. I wish we had. He would have if I'd insisted. He'd do anything I wanted to do.

So, as I left Dan's office the question nagged at me all the way home. I can't answer the question. Somehow I figure it probably is important. I suspect it will reveal great truths about me. Or maybe I just love storms.....

The thunder has moved off now. I suppose the storm has gone with it. That's too bad. I should have gone out and stood under the awning and watched it.