Tending elephants, especially in the snow is tough...

Dear diary,

I have realized this week that there is much sadness associated with snow. As much as I have enjoyed being out in the pristine white stuff and crispy blue skies, shoveling or walking, there was a shadow that kept nudging me until I recognized what it was and then I could not leave its edges of darkness, which is where I am still as I type in the white, reflective northern daylight. It is the first time in over 3 months that I am really struggling with the loss and struggling with making wise choices about living when it has felt like I too died nearly six years ago. The memories of snow as a child's playground, the sledding, the snowsuits, the wet, frozen mittens that need drying for the next day, the snowmen, snow-caves, angels…later the skier who needed rides up to the ski slopes, who was committed enough to the sport to join the ski club. Those blue eyes that mirrored mine sparkled above chill-chafed red cheeks and knit hat pressed blonde hair. The thermos full of hot chocolate was as important as the skis in my mind. Those minor details of life's happenings are just 'things' compared to the loss of the person. But you can't untangle the tapestry of complexities that make for a life. As a parent, everything is naturally deferred to making things well and good for your child, which includes the tangible and intangible, so you can't strip away the 'things.' So I am realizing that outside the loss of my son, I miss on a much less profound level, being his mom, being a mom. It really is trivial in the big scheme of things, my loss of a 'role.' But it was my main identity for all my adult life. I was a mother before I was 20. I matured into adulthood with that fate already part of who I was. So the more I allow myself to feel, the more complex the root of loss becomes. No longer able to continue barely living, the finality of never, ever being who I once was makes me realize I have to find a new identity and continue to 'survive' the loss of my only child. It is like an engineering feat with myself being the project. A project that I am ambivalent about at best under these circumstances, so therein lies the catch. It is no wonder I have been self destructive and/or shut down as much as possible from life, from living in general. When the machinery is so damaged, you wonder if it is worth it to try and patch things up enough to continue. Just what is the fucking point? But then the heat that fuels the soul percolates and your lungs continue to fill with air and your heart goes on beating and you never for a moment would exchange never having known this indescribable pain of loss because it means that you loved someone so utterly and completely and that they were a gift in your life worth any hell you are living with. Loving a child is a category of its own. No spouse or sibling or parent or friend approaches being close to the connect you have with your child, it is physical and emotional at the same time, so the damage of loss is like invisible scar tissue, a stigmata that only someone who has experienced the same thing can truly understand. You don't want to meet people who 'understand.' That means they too are living with an inconsolable pain. There is no comfort in numbers, just an exponential sense of tragedy and recognition that has no redemptive qualities, just recognition. Nothing good comes of that commonality. Not for me, at least.
So I am sad in the snow. I am shoveling in the daylight and trying and not trying to keep from crying. I'm sure that is a big part of my problem or solution (solution, as in a momentary sense of peace)…allowing myself to cry, no matter how self indulgent and futile it seems and is. Because maybe opening myself up more to the pain, will also allow more good things in too. I have the volume on life set so low. No, not volume, it is an alarm, that's it. At the slightest hint of sadness seeping in the cracks (which can be several times a minute) I have installed reactors to shut the alarms down, which shuts me down…which has seemed like a very good, self preservation notion for these past few years, but in the end, has turned me into a barely living entity as a whole. A patch here a band aide there a few tears and of course good red wine is a start, or maybe a damned conclusion for all I know.