Sun 16 Nov 2008
a quiet place
Posted by bon under coping stuff
[27] Comments
sometimes it steals up on me, like that six-foot rugby chick from my misspent youth, the one with the steel cleats and the hamhock legs. out of the corner of my eye, i catch a glimpse, a shadow…and then WHUMPH. she hits me like a train.
i’ve been hit enough times to know what’s happening, but by the time i figure it out, i’m already flat on my back, dazed.
grief sneaks up on you long after you think you’re done.
the sadness is quieter now than before, harder to recognize. the steel cleats that shredded me have been traded in for ballet shoes, blunt and hard yet graceful, somehow. still, it feels like being trodden on, ground under. i try to acquiesce, go limp, play dead…long for twenty-four hours to simply lie on my couch and breathe, to come to terms with this ever-morphing, gruelling visitation. but there is no sanctuary, no retreat…either from grieving or from living. and so, quietly wretched, stretched between despair and normalcy, my fuse grows short…even the simplest things overwhelm me. can you not see i’m busy here? i want to shout to my sinkful of dishes, my dirty sock pile, my beautiful, living, demanding, non-sleeping children. can you not see this weight perched on my chest? can’t you see that i am not okay?!?
but i am pinned under, and my voice does not carry. grief beats out a merry rhythm about my head, brutalizing and relentless. all is grey.
a year since the ultrasound said blighted ovum. a son whose traces i can no longer feel, connect to. an emptiness i am still bewildered by, after all this time. November again. so much promise lost, so many expectations adjusted. and yet, and yet…so many blessings, so much busy-ness. i believe myself healed. almost always, i feel it. but oh, when i don’t, when old grief sidles up by surprise and takes me out at the knees, i lose my bearings. i get scared, fear she’s brought friends, and luggage. i panic.
in my very first-ever rugby game, the only team sport i ever played, the ball made it out to me at wing only once. and i caught it, an impressive feat considering that i have the hand-eye coordination of a hippo and was actually in motion at the time. pride and delight swelled up in my chest – i was high on accomplishment. and then the steel-cleated she-behemoth was right there, out of nowhere, about to flatten me, and i turned and fled. in the other direction. ahem, you know, towards the other team’s line. my fight or flight instincts are damn clear, and i know when something’s bigger than me. except the she-beast caught me anyway and ran right over me, taking the ball with her. WHUMPH. and my coach pretty much made me the waterboy after that.
i’d like to run, right now…to flee. especially since i know i can’t just lie here until grief passes on to elsewhere again. but if i tried to outrun her, she’d only catch me. somewhere or other she catches us all.
so instead i will pick myself up and go feed the baby and say a quiet thankyou for all that i have that i do not deserve and i will try to keep my mouth otherwise shut so i do not snap, so the grey does not escape. and i will be quiet, quiet with this old companion i never invited, until again she takes her things and leaves me in her wake to find my peace.




November 16th, 2008 at 5:11 pm
wishing you the moments you need for this quiet place, even if they do not come easily or at all with all that your life holds right now.
November 16th, 2008 at 5:19 pm
Hoping that you find some peace from grief. Bless you.
November 16th, 2008 at 5:38 pm
Whenever I come here (I’m sorry) I’m taken over by your mastery of words and sensation. I forget for a moment to feel your wound but when I remember, I remember well.
Wishing you well.
November 16th, 2008 at 7:27 pm
We went and watched Pride and Glory today, (because he refused so see the new Bond. hrmph) and I wasn’t expecting anything beyond gruff and blood and boring speeches.
One character’s wife appears, her hair missing, bottles of pills cluttering the bedside table. We see her with her small children later, her shadowed eyes beside them as she breaks down crying.
I lost my shit during a cop movie of all things. The memories that on a good day don’t haunt me, don’t bother me at all, being nearly 20 years away, the cropped up like it was yesterday and my grief and my terror coalesced into one and I just kept sucking on that orange slush until I had the ice cream headache from hell.
Life reminds me time and again that grief never really leaves. It subsides, it gets better, it lesses, but it can still reach out and shake you until all the change falls from your pockets. Your breathe stolen.
I’m not saying I can totally relate-you know I can’t. But that my own experience has told me that this? This is horribly, irritatingly normal.
Chin up. Kiss the baby. Have some poutine. You’ll feel, a bit better tomorrow.
November 16th, 2008 at 9:44 pm
That’s hard, that you can’t just stop everything and deal with these bouts when they happen–but I guess it’s a blessing too. Grief never had a more eloquent chronicler, Bon.
November 16th, 2008 at 10:00 pm
All my adoration and gratitude for these words is flooding PEI at the moment. Batten down your hatches.
xoxo
November 16th, 2008 at 11:08 pm
There are few things as hard to take as feeling sidelined by grief, and yet knowing that you don’t have the time or mental energy to deal with it because too many people are depending on you.
That was a little incoherent, but you know what I mean, I think.
Hugs to you.
November 16th, 2008 at 11:39 pm
I hate when the sadness creeps in. Especially when you have two non-sleeping babies. Thinking of you Bon…
November 17th, 2008 at 12:57 am
Thinking of you, sweet Bon.
November 17th, 2008 at 2:05 am
Up and all around your thinking, I wonder. Half through it always thinking; I cannot know. BAH.
But you tell. Do tell. Even where I am wrong I am so glad you do tell. Can you see me agape at the end (or in fact 4 sentences from the end)??? Stunned again at this indescribable you of which you tell me.
Sending you every hearts’ kindess. Kiss on the head in the darkness.
November 17th, 2008 at 2:37 pm
Grief of grief has drained me clean.
Which is to say that the only possible way I could be sadder is if I were happier.
November 17th, 2008 at 6:36 pm
Oh Bon. I hope she leaves you soon, but in the meantime, I hope you have the space and peace required to deal with her unexpected visit.
November 17th, 2008 at 7:53 pm
deserve…a funny word it is. Who is deserving of peace, happiness, quiet comfort? To say one person isn’t, is to say another is.
No one deserves the haunting grief you bear. I hope you have a happy day tomorrow. You deserve it.
November 18th, 2008 at 1:08 am
She’s a stealthy one that rugby chick and that’s why I hate her so.
Wishing you the best through this.
November 18th, 2008 at 2:34 pm
Don’t look down much, I tell myself. That’s because once the rug has been yanked out from under you, you know it’s not there, or thinking it’s there is an illusion and there is no putting it back. Oh Niobe’s words are so…
Anyway…value. You can value. How lovely to do that.
Thunderstorms pass.
Hang in there.
Sun’s coming.
(you)
November 18th, 2008 at 2:40 pm
Hey if you listen to Pandora or last.fm or any of those, tune in to Lori Carson’s You Won’t Fall.
Just a little musical gift that says
I don’t need the surface of things
To tell me
I just know
You can rest easy
Your beauty is clear to me
You won’t fall
You won’t fall
Heat hangs in this room
With pictures on your wall
Of other lives
Do you mourn them all?
Tears fall from your eyes
Like rain, unexpectedly
Don’t be afraid, my love
You won’t fall
You won’t fall
I don’t need the surface of things
To tell me
I just know
You can rest easy
One day this un-named fear
Will leave you
Still standing there
You won’t fall
You won’t fall
I’ll catch you
But you won’t fall
I’m right here
But you won’t fall
November 18th, 2008 at 3:10 pm
Hi Bon-
since you visit us all the time I thought it would be appropriate to finally really visit your blog and respond. I’ve read it a bit but am now taking the time to really read it. I love this post. it scares me though that you lost your little Finn 3 years ago and have 2 other subsequent kids and you still feel it so deeply. I keep hoping that time will make it all go away. but it seems to get harder some days. I keep hoping getting pregnant will make it better, but I see that it still does hurt so bad, even with new precious little ones. I know I have tremendous support, this new community I’m in has been so incredible to us, but yet I have not come to terms with the fact that this is my life now, forever. thanks for sharing in the pain, i guess we’re all in this together.
November 18th, 2008 at 4:16 pm
what hannah said.
i’ve always thought it’s the ugly bumpy scars after the healing that remain so painful and vulnerable when bumped up against.
peace to you, bon.
November 18th, 2008 at 7:47 pm
You never fail to amaze me with how you so eloquently and beautifully describe how you feel. This post takes my breath away.
And, how weirdly beautiful to come read on someone else’s blog and halfway through, think, “She’s writing my story, she is.”
This is corny but you are singing my life as well.
Hang in there, hon. ((hugs))
November 19th, 2008 at 1:10 am
Your grief is so beautifully expressed that sometimes I have to force myself to remember how terrible it truly is, that it cuts and stifles you. You make me look at the poetry in my sadnesses, if that makes any sense.
Hugs and lighter days and more sleep to you.
November 19th, 2008 at 4:57 am
“say a quiet thankyou for all that i have that i do not deserve” – au contraire Bon. You wear grief gracefully. You have weathered many a storm with wisdom and humour beyond the norm. You definately deserve your family, happiness and much more.
November 19th, 2008 at 10:04 am
I’m so sorry that the grief still hits you, Bon. I wish I could say that it will pass with time, but my mother still mourns the loss of my brother 22 years ago. I think your children will always be with you, and it’s only natural to think on them with sadness. (((hugs)))
November 19th, 2008 at 1:07 pm
Oh, you have me in tears here. I can relate so much to this post, for entirely different reasons.
November 19th, 2008 at 4:50 pm
“grief sneaks up on you long after you think you’re done.”
Yes, it certainly does.
(gentle hugs)
November 22nd, 2008 at 11:16 am
Oh. But the image I had of you beside the crib. And in this image you open your mouth and tilt your head up and a soundless tornado whirls out.
November 25th, 2008 at 1:21 am
oh bon. I never know what to write.
just a virtual hug to offer
November 25th, 2008 at 12:35 pm
I am oh so late to this… but I had to say something.
I think you know how much I get this. The calendar and seasons call us back to memories even when we don’t always want to.
It’s hard to tend to little ones when you are feeling sorrowful. I know how hard that is. So much energy getting pulled two different directions.
I’ll be thinking of you in this season of remembering.