Blank Inside

Today’s personal update: I feel blank inside. I know there’s a ton of pain in there somewhere and I’m (1) afraid to touch it because it’s been covered up for a few days and I’m getting used to feeling numb, and (2) feeling very guilty for not doing my “grief work” like a good little griever. I feel on display. Like everyone’s watching to see how I handle things. I’ve always felt like that. I feel the world on my shoulders. I feel angry. Like, really? We had to go through all of this, Livie had to go through all of it… so we could be made into an example? And what now? What are we now? Olivia is gone and we’re still here. We feel used up. Tossed aside. No longer useful or interesting. We don’t have the energy we used to have. We don’t feel the creativity we used to. Or the patience. Or the motivation. Another part of me wouldn’t change a single thing about any of it. Screw our example. Screw what happens next. Those 14 months with Olivia, and even these past few months in its wake, here with Heather and our 3 kids, are the most treasured months of my life. I feel equal parts “what now?” and “who cares, I can’t take another step anyway”. I know tomorrow will be different. Probably later today will be different. And I hesitate to share this without tying some sort of bow around it - partially because I'd like to write something inspiring, but mostly because I don't want people to try to fix it. There's nothing to be fixed - it is what it is. And even if it could be fixed, we wouldn't want it. Our pain is what connects us to Olivia. Our pain is what progresses us through the grieving process. Yesterday, our friend Mike told me apologetically that he was standing at Olivia's grave and didn't know what to pray for us. He wanted to help, but all he could do was stand there and feel sad. I felt so thankful for his willingness to sit in our pain with us, rather than looking for a way out. This is the most helpful and loving thing a friend can do. Thank you Mike.

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