our lives changed forever. I didn't even know it at the time. One minute I was driving down Whittaker road towards I-94, kids in the back babbling; I saw the light was red and a few cars were already ahead of me at the intersection.
The next minute, although it felt sort of like the next very slow half-hour, it was about two days later; I was in the hospital and vaguely sensed that something was horribly wrong, and that I needed to fix it somehow and there was this sense of urgency, but I couldn't really put a finger on it; I was also confused about where I was and why I was in the hospital. It seemed kind of dark in my room, and people were drifting in and out. I especially remember my friend Sandy sniffling a lot, and I don't know if she was crying or if she had a cold. Perhaps both.
It really wasn't until the night of the 24th, after I had been discharged and was in the MedInn (the sort of in-house hotel at the U of M medical center) that it really hit me.
Every year is hard, although this year is the first time we didn't go up to MI to be at the crash scene at the time of the accident. I had all kinds of medical misadventures early this week, and as a result we're extreeeeeemely far behind on things like cleaning, wrapping, xmas grocery shopping. Plus my mom is going to be here Monday. So we decided, reluctantly, to stay up here for this weekend, and we'll head to MI the first weekend in January.
We realized last night that the trip to MI, the stays with friends and visits to old favorite haunts in A2 and Ypsi, distract us somehow from the actual sadness of the day. However, being here underscores it. Last night we were absolutely floundering -- we desperately needed some company/support/something to get us through, but nobody around here is available for that kind of thing -- they're with their own families, or out w/friends, or just not quite the kind of friends that we can ask for this kind of support from.
Then too, the friends here, although they do care and understand that this is a hard time for us, don't experience it the same way because it is not a loss for them; whereas for Sandy and other friends in MI, they knew and loved Hannah too; so it helps us all if we can be together.
We ended by just going to the mall, getting dinner, letting the kids play, and I got a (rather nice) new haircut. I think in the future, we will still try to get up to MI for the actual date, but in the event that we can't, we will line up some kind of time with friends to see us through the worst of it.
What helped us through the initial loss back in 2003 was the sheer amount of human companionship -- every morning, and every evening, various friends from the neighborhood, church, Hannah's school, whatever; someone always came and sat with us or brought dinner or just kept us company; chatting, even laughing about stuff. Being alone with just the kids and the grief last night was too hard.
I felt a little angry -- well, to be honest, extremely angry -- that I couldn't just call someone here and say, help -- we need company/distraction/human contact, just to get us through. I was irrationally resentful that people here aren't feeling the pain the way we are. They just can't, though; and I wouldn't want them to. But it sucks to be here, instead of back in MI, for this.
It's also hard because right now we're sort of in the trenches w/Max -- we can't take him anywhere; almost none of our friend's houses are childproof enough for him (although at times I'm not sure even a completely empty, rubberized safe room would be childproof enough for this boy); our house is a pit so I don't want to ask anyone over (plus then we're the hosts, which sort of defeats the purpose of what we needed last night).
Everyone ELSE we know doesn't have toddlers; they have abundant family/close friends who can babysit at the drop of a fucking hat; they seem to be free to do mom's nights/couple time/whatever in a way that I know I won't be for at least another year or so, and I am literally homicidal about it. I think the combination of burnout, grief, fatigue and random health issues is kicking my ass big time (and by extension, Jon's and my kids').
No comments:
Post a Comment