Screaming in the Silence

...and the world has not stopped yet. For some reason the trees are still blowing in the wind while tears stream down my face. Storms still come and go, and my son has to be dropped off at daycare. Traffic is still moving and there are long lines at retail counters and only God knows why. I cannot hear clearly but I am sure my boss is talking directly to me, but I can’t make out the words. Love stories in every romcom go on with happy endings and happily-ever-after’s but I cannot join in on the sentiment. Church service fills in the gaps between my thoughts as songs are sung and prayers are lifted but my halleluiah is different. People are still talking, thriving, complaining and achieving. The world simply keeps spinning as I scream in the silence. 

Surely, I thought the world would stop when my mother died as it did for me. Surely there was nothing else to do now that she was gone. I wanted everyone I knew to be just as in shock, distraught and speechless as I was. Honestly, most days I still feel the same. Wishful thinking, I guess. I want nothing more than for a few dozen people to completely crash out over the loss of my mother. Is that too much to ask? I want people to take to the streets and declare she is gone while celebrating her life. I don’t know what part of grief this stage is called. This repressive space where no one understands or seems to emote the level of grief that you are or that is sufficient. It's lonely in this space. Is this the part that never truly heals after a loved one transitions? Is there never any closure or comfort to a constant feeling of abandonment after your mother dies? It has only been 10 months, and I am still navigating this space. Only time will tell what’s next. 

Someone told me I was a part of a club now. This is exactly how they explained it to me. I was a part of a club that you never want to be a part of but life dragged you in any way. This club is exclusively for those who have lost their mother. This was not comforting at all by the way, but at the very least, I knew there was someone or a cohort of people who understood my pain on some level. However, that wasn’t good enough for me. I need to understand and process this new reality in a way that is tangible-in a way that will bring me peace, that will bring me closure...or so I think. Being a part of some unofficial club of mourners does not allow me to sleep at night or allow me to keep my composure anytime I speak to my older brother who bears the weight of his own grief. We travel down memory lane in a desperate attempt to not trigger the pain that awaits after every phone call. But we do...and it does and no club could ever bring solace to a sibling barely holding up the arms of the other.  We are now two sons grappling with the reality that their mother is with them only in spirit. She was ours alone...a league of our own we were. Three, the hard way. Now, just a club of two. No new members allowed. 

"The motivation to smile or to get out of bed is fleeting when so much of it has been buried with your loved one."

Am I mad at the world? According to PyschCentral.com the five most common stages of grief according to the Kübler-Ross model are Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. This model is to serve as a reference and not as a rule. This means that one may or may not experience these stages in the order listed. They may go back and forth or skip a stage or two. It depends on the individual. In full transparency, in writing this I can see how I was angry with everyone for moving on. I was angry with anyone who did not attend the homegoing service, did not call to check on me and everyone who kept going to work. There were literally no parameters around my anger. Now, in real time, I still revisit the anger stage for multiple reasons. At least now there is reasoning behind the anger. Science. With this explanation I am beginning to see that I may have been asking too much of this world. Yet I’ve decided to give myself some grace. These last several months I have been inundated with balancing multiple stages of grief. Once I feel that denial is behind me it creeps back in like an aching joint from an old injury. Rising out of depression has been the most challenging to say the least. The motivation to smile or to get out of bed is fleeting when so much of it has been buried with your loved one. Attempting to be self-aware of your emotions, mental and physical health, while making it to the office every day, showing up as a father and a husband, all while grieving, strips away at your joy and totally empties your cup. I decided to give myself grace because balancing this load is seemingly impossible and would lead

anyone to subjective irrational expectations of others. It is all a part of the process of grief that I am still exploring and processing unapologetically.

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A psychological explanation behind grief, though reassuring, it hasn’t granted peace. If you are still reading this, I am sure you have heard and can sense the undoing of my faith. This is not uncommon for what one may experience after the loss of a loved one. Watching someone I love, somewhere deep, slowly grow more ill until the only thing recognizable was the fight that was inside her, is the most traumatic experience of my life. For me, I have so many unanswered questions surrounding death and its fairness in regard to faith and God’s timing.  I have learned through both Godly counsel and therapy that this doesn’t make me faithless. It makes me human. As I am still on my faith journey, I will not pretend to be on the other side of this. I will not use words like “healed” or “better place” because all is not well with my soul. I am where I am. What I know at this moment is that Psalms 30:5 says,” ...weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” I long for that morning; not just for my sake but for my mother’s memory. She would have never wanted my joy to disappear into the shadows. There is still hope for peace. That is what has brought me back to Christ. He is my forever promise of hope and healing. This is what I choose to depend on. “The Lord is near to the heartbroken and He saves those who are crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18.)” I believe this to be more and more true as the days go by and my heart mends with every smile from my son. I can’t explain it but I feel Him in the mist of pain and I’m grateful. 

The word of God also says that there is time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance (Ecc. 3:4). In many ways I believe this is God’s original stages of grief. The blueprint. Why does grief have to look like depression or denial? Of course, I understand the science, but what does my faith say? Why can’t it be reckless abandon in laughter over precious memories. Yes, our eyes will swell up with tears as a song or smell triggers the thought of those we lose. Perhaps, it is in the dancing, the hustle and bustle of life that will move us forward into true healing. Perhaps, the duality of both morning and rejoicing is what will grant total peace. As I write this, I am believing this as a possibility now. Faith undone doesn’t mean discarded. So, life is still moving on and trees are still blowing in the wind. Cars drive for miles on the highways and my son still expects play time with dad. Laundry must be done and there are several unanswered texts in my phone. The world simply keeps spinning as I scream in the silence. I miss her most when I realize I can’t embrace her and I haven’t said a good prayer in days. The world keeps spinning and my screams go to sorrowful whispers. At least... I know, God hears me.

Editor: Sherri Lewis, The Write One, LLC