There is no doubt that losing a child to suicide left me feeling stuck in a slower-moving dimension. As the world moved forward, I watched it whiz by as I helplessly sat on the sidelines with no motivation to keep up. Nothing mattered and everything was eclipsed by my loss which weighed heavy on my heart, my chest, my lungs, my limbs. At first, it possessed me, took me hostage and I fought hard to have some control over my emotions which were so raw and exposed.
Conversely, there were days when I would crave the need to lavish love on my missing child who wasn’t there to receive it. That left me feeling empty and needy of a way to fill up that space in my heart that was cavernous.
Once I trudged through the early days, weeks, and months, some days were punctuated by the feeling that I could do anything. And the next day I’d be plunged into darkness. It was confusing to feel such highs and then such lows. I wish the moments of elation had lasted longer but I had to learn to appreciate small moments of joy.
On days that are rough, I can remind myself I’ve been through the worst. So I can do one bad day, a string of bad days even. Because I know there will be days I do feel like I can do anything and I’ll boldly do things that would have made me hesitate before. But now? I dive in. That is one of the gifts Charles left me.