“But will I ever feel like myself again?,” she asked me.
Her question startled me, and there I was holding the phone as my brother told me my Dad was dead. I was grasping my belly, blood in the toilet weeping over my baby, gone….I was in the ER, with a solemn sonographer looking for a heart beat. I was on the phone with 911, beside my friend who was turning blue experiencing a heart attack.
Her question to me following her own personal loss…it had been my anthem for days, weeks, maybe even years following death, grief, loss… “I just want to feel like myself again” I would think, “I want to laugh without feeling the laughter cut pre-maturely remembering who wasn’t there to laugh with me. I just wanted to laugh, freely…without looking over my shoulder, frantically scanning my surroundings wondering when the next tragedy or crises would come. I wanted to go to sleep at night without fear…fear that one of my children would die in the night, fear that something would happen to my husband while he was driving. I wanted to feel carefree and full of wonder and hope at what may be next instead of dreading each new day.