Precious Little Things

It’s the little things that crush a bereaved parent. After all that we have been through, you could pull a bull dozer through my house and I would find a way to keep my other kids spirits up, still serve dinner, and I’d have ways to solve the issue (a bulldozer in my living room) before it even turns off its engines. Nothing can shock or hurt me anymore. Sadly, nothing can penetrate me, either… Not love, support, care. No, those big things don’t matter, and are small change compared to the little things. Oh, those precious little things. Someone casually mentioning that they need to start Christmas shopping. Finding a juice box in the back of the cabinet. Driving by your child’s favorite park. A mention of, “How are you doing?”. A special picture someone is showing you. Those precious innocent little things can ruin everything. They force out all of these emotions that I’m trying to bottle up for another time. For what time I don’t know. It’s not like I don’t want them to come out,it’s just that I’m scared to death of them, so I fight them subconsciously. I hide behind activities, work, food, alcohol, other “things”… I’m finding myself pulling away from things. Things I had planned to “be” after Katherine. Activism, advocacy, family, friends, the things that remind me of her, to keep her memory alive. I avoid them, and it’s adding to my fear…
Those “little” things today caused me to finally make a call to a Dr. “Hi Mrs. King, this is Rachel from Mental Health, I can help you schedule your appointment.” (shock) “No, no… you must be mistaken. Ha! I don’t need mental health, I just need a Dr. to give me something to calm me down when I’m running behind or stressed, and then something “little” comes to mind, and I lose it. You see these small triggers get me, so I just need something to mellow me out. I get shaky, and scared, and can’t breathe… I’m not having mental issues, I just need something to calm me down…” “Mrs. King, you need to talk to someone, to address those “little” things, and then we can discuss something that will help calm you down. You have every right to feel the way you do, considering your situation, so I think it would be best…” (shock) “Well, ok… Then pick someone that can speak sob, and cry… because once I start talking, that’s what they’re going to get…” “We have plenty of those here… See you tomorrow at 1” (click – shock)
I had a vision of how I would be after Katherine died. I was so fierce in my mind during her decline. I was steadfast and on a roll. I was thorough, and things got done. I needed her comfortable, and happy, and my whole life was that child. That side of me is gone. I am slow to move in every aspect of my life right now. Everything I do is by force. I’m not motivated to be good, or thorough at anything. I am not depressed, so to speak. I don’t hate me, or feel down all the time. But I’m not “me”… I feel as if I’m a different person looking in at my life. Like a drug addict recovering, looking back after your mind is functioning normal again, and clear, and saying, “What happened…” And not knowing how to move forward. Like a marionette who needs guidance. It’s almost as if the evening Katherine passed, as I stood outside of my body, watching everything, and everyone, in the room, only a piece of who I was came back to me. Some of me is still there, lost… with her. My “little” thing… Katherine. I miss you baby. I love you so much. I’m so sorry…



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