A Saturday in July
"Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve." Earl Grollman
Today is July 30, 2022. You've been gone a little over six months now Dawn. On this hot, sunny Saturday I wish you were here, and we were planning to go to a movie, perhaps Elvis, or watching our favorite house makeover show on television. Instead your dad and I were at yours and Daniel's grave replacing flowers in the vase on a tombstone so there would be fall colors, and worrying about how the drought was effecting your headstone.
The past few weeks have been pretty rough. Your dad, Carrie, and I miss you so much. We are fine for a minute, then missing you hits so hard we crumble under its agony. You didn't die quietly, peacefully. It was a nightmare. I can't say it any more powerfully than Carrie did on a recent Instagram post.
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A Treadmill
The hellish walk
of absence, of grief
is a burning pavement
my tears won’t cool,
nor is tomorrow a promise
the weight of it won’t
feel as heavy.
There is no moving on,
no getting over…
I’m on the treadmill of
getting through that is
exhausting, cruel, and
isolating.
I am the darkness
in a room people avoid
because sorrow is the
most uncomfortable
seat at the table.
©Susie Clevenger 2022
So true, Susie, and I applaud your courage in walking through the unimaginable land of grief. The absence so great it is an actual presence. The ache of missing her. Carrie's post is so powerful. Horrible that Dawn and all of you had to go through such an agonizing death. I question how the medical team couldnt have spared her some of that pain? I am so sorry. Keep writing your truth. Anyone who has known grief - and who hasnt? - can understand. There is nothing worse than losing your child. Nothing.
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