I’m cold. And anyone
in the Midwest is probably really pissed to be reading that right now. You’re right, my afternoon was filled with
sunny skies and a blissful 85 degree temp.
Cap it off with forested mountains in every background and there isn’t
much to complain about. But it’s night
time in the mountains, and I’m getting a little chilly. After spending a week in La Fit about a year
ago with an amazing team, I realized that on the next recommended packing list
would be plenty of warm clothes and bedding.
It’s the rainy season. We are in
the mountains. And it’s cold.
But that’s not why I chose this topic to write about
either. Two years ago today was when I
got the life-changing, gut-wrenching Facebook message. Guirlene: Bedica malade. And then minutes later: Guirlene: Bedica
mouri. I was destroyed. I lashed out at my computer. I made frantic phone calls. I drank a bottle of rum, poured out an
emotional roller coaster on this blog thinking it might be my last ever, and
started walking towards the pedestrian bridge over the Iowa River.
Stages of grief always seemed like a silly concept when I
was in school. And then I lived
them. Sort of. I was definitely angry. Angry at everyone in Haiti who had let this
happen to her. The health workers for
their lack of working on health. At
Charles who was in country, had a vehicle and seemingly was lost in trying to
seek medical attention. At Chris and
Ginny for letting her go back. At myself
for getting attached. And at God for all
of the above. Didn't really help as
anger never does. But hey, it’s an
immature defense mechanism that is easy to turn to in our weakest moments, and
I did.
Denial and bargaining are more with my inability to face her
parents with any deal of comfort. It’s
Haiti. They’re used to dying
children. There is no guilt. There is little grieving. They’ve moved on. But Americans can’t. I can’t.
I’ve seen parents bury children and it’s always unbearable to
watch. And then the days, weeks, months,
and years following can be just as bad. #InterestingStatisticThatIHeardButCantVerify
80% of couples who bury a child end up divorced. Not surprised.
I think it’s because we never really reach stage 5:
Acceptance. How do you accept losing a
child? That’s not the way nature was
designed. And so because it doesn’t make
sense we hang on to our anger. It’s the
easiest emotion to possess and one that will ensure that we never forget. Anger is effortless. Love takes work. Love admits fallibility, but in anger you’re
always right. It’s vindicating. And everyone around you is the victim. There is no doubt that it can easily couple
itself with depression. Sleep disturbances,
anhedonia, guilt, distracted thinking, suicidality. There’s your five SIGECAPS there. And so we languish. Relationships get choked out like the seeds
cast among the weeds. Work falters like the seeds cast on desert sand.
And so I am cold. No
longer angry to the point of no return, but unsure of where to go from
here. I can say that I will try and not
write about this topic again. But with
the looming graduations and the requisite celebrations afterwards this
unfortunately is likely to be lived by more people than is acceptable to
me. Thus I thought worthwhile
writing. Perhaps it can help another struggling
with loss to have some introspection, or at the very least can offer a gist to
an outsider of what someone might be going through.
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