Writing the Grief, social justice.

I think all human suffering is the same; some wounds are broader and deeper, but it’s all the same, in the end. Which is why I’m so concerned with social justice. How much worse would it be if my mother was killed by a drone strike? By a terrorist’s bomb? By a crazy police officer? Human suffering, boiled down, is basically the same. Which is why I care about it all… I wish I could find more actionable solutions, but here we are.

Writing the Grief, buried and unburied

So I’m alternating between trying to give myself the space to grieve, and trying to give myself permission to be human again. It’s a balancing act. A large part of me wants to just get on with my life, get back to my routine, and keep writing. I’d like to stop writing these posts. But I believe that I am too quick to bury and bottle my emotions. It’s too easy for me to just keep going, and hold this as my secret pain, while telling the world that I’m basically okay when I’m really not (which is what I’ve been doing).

At the same time, I want to give myself permission to be human. Permission to laugh and enjoy things. To drink my favorite fancy sodas, play video games, make music, make love to my wife, and hang out with my dog. I don’t want grief to overwhelm that. I don’t want to go back to the cycle of quiet bottled pain, resentment, release, anger, brief periods of emotional openness, then a recollection of pain. There’s nothing good about that.

And to top it off, I’m basically giving myself a hard time because I haven’t found the balance yet. I’m questioning my moods, my every move, whatever I say and do. The only thing that feels right and necessary and correct, actually, is writing these blogs. As much as I’d like to forget the hurt. This is helping me process.

I really feel sorry for anyone who had to go through this when they were any younger than I am now. (And I know a few friends who have, and they’ve been really wonderful to me these last few days) They didn’t have a chance to really know their parents. They were probably ill-equipped to deal with it emotionally as kids (or they grew up really quickly, too quickly). And their parents had to miss a lot. That has got to be really hard. I’m getting formally married in a few months, and it’s really going to hurt to not have my mother there. Carolyn says that my mother now has the best seat in the house. I’d like to believe that; I don’t know if I can, but I’d like to.