Strength

I remember when I was 17 and my cousin died. I remember being there as my grandmother was told her grandson had died. Her reaction always struck me as she lay in bed with tears rolling down her face. I remembering thinking how amazingly strong my grandmother was in that moment. See my grandmother had a daughter die at birth, her youngest son died at 17 and two years later her husband died. Watching her responded so simply to yet another unimaginable loss has always stuck with me. My grandmother was full of faith in God and she seemed in that moment to acknowledge death for the sadness of the loss but she had a calm about her that I can't explain. My grandmother also cared for my own mother who spent nearly a year in the hospital with polio at a time where people were dying from this horrible disease. I've heard stories my whole life of all the appointments and medical procedures my mom went through that my grandmother had to take care of.

Ever since Conor was little I have wanted more then ever to have my grandmother back. In addition to the normal parts of grief and loss I want desperately to have her guidance on so many days. On my hardest days with Conor's health I would give so much to have her to talk to. The loss of this baby has intensified those feelings. I never knew then to ask her how she handled these things. I never knew how amazingly hard those things she dealt with must have been.

People tell me I'm strong a lot. Sometimes this makes me feel like I must have the whole world fooled. As a kid I was so emotional. I don't think anyone would have described me as strong. And some days I used to feel like if people saw me hiding on the floor in my closet crying they would never think I'm strong. But other days I would think "I've totally got this" "I can kick some ass". Sometimes I totally feel like I'm strong.

But this. This loss, it doesn't ever feel like strength. It feels like I'm broken. And at times I want to not feel all this hurt and I want it to not hurt so bad. But then I think somehow that it would be hard if it didn't hurt so much. Like somehow it has to hurt because I loved him. Because my hurt gives value to his life because nobody else will get to know him. But I did.

I don't know how to resolve that desire to not feel so hurt and needing to acknowledge him. I wish more then ever I could sit and talk with my grandmother about how she did it all. But I can't so I'll probably just sit here an join Mack when he has throws a fit about random little things cause man I feel ya buddy!