Wednesday, June 11, 2008


This started out as a comment to a post on GITW. Posting here probably will be sporadic and/or ugly for a little while.

Even before this loss, no one could say I hadn't changed since high school. The words used to describe me by family, friends, even C who didn't know me then: blossomed. blooming.

A scared, sensitive child grown into a sensitive, guarded adult. Until the blooming -- figuring out what made me stand up, what made me shine, what made me feel good. And then I met C, bloomed some more. My mom died, we got married, moved 1000 miles away to what seemed like a foreign place in the middle of the country.

I found myself, again, with C supporting me. My intellectual pursuits, my personal goals, friends. Little S--- was taken care of by a happier, more confident, grown up me.

And then we got pregnant. Really pregnant. Finally. And then we lost them. All our hopes and dreams. I liked to think that I was reaching all my goals, that I was feeling more sure of myself, with a tough program, even with the apprehension of a tough pregnancy, hoping to end with a stressful turn with two infant sons. Scared, but hopeful.

I keep stumbling now. People say, take it slow. Be gentle with yourself. Have I changed a bit? Does it count if you've gone back to a place you thought you'd grown out of?

Scared. Incapable of decision making. Paralyzed by everything. Afraid of hope.


I took piano lessons beginning at age 4, like my sister. I was a passable player (not as skills as A). Not-great rhythm. Not-great confidence. Every once in a while we tried duets: my mom and sister, me and my mom, me and my sister. But I could never maintain the music. I'd start out okay. We'd get going. I'd get caught up in it, find some momentum, connection. Then I'd lose it. I'd start to think too much about what I was doing and lose the rhythm, the connection with what my partner was playing.

So, take your pick on metaphor.

Yeah, people would probably say I've changed. But from what to what? whom to whom?

I'm so fucking tired of changing. Growing. I just want to enjoy my life.


Just went back and looked and realized that I didn't answer the question bon posed: do you want to be told you haven't changed a bit?

I really don't know what my answer would be. It's hard for me to believe that people can't see change in me. And yet, it feels like I've gone back in time -- unchanged. No...

Changed back.


Bon said...

changed back.

this brought back a wash of memories for me, ones i'd forgotten or overlooked while writing my own post. at the height of my grief, a few months after my loss, i remember feeling wounds and emotions that i hadn't felt in years, in some cases since all the vulnerability of a lifetime came crashing back down on me.

just sending you love and hope...because i HAD forgotten that place, and i hope that someday you will too.

Catherine said...

Found your blog through your comment on Bon's post...

You are so right. It IS hard. The changes that you feel while you are grieving can be exhausting. But yes...give it time. That is exactly right. I'm amazed now, looking back at it, how I survived at all. But from where I am now I can appreciate the changes in myself...even if I can't appreciate the reasons for those changes.

Tash said...

I hope what Catherine says is true, and that there will be some positive kind of change out of this shitpile. Or that at the very least, I can appreciate them. Because right now I'd kill to go back 10 years or be told I looked like I did then or behaved like I did then.

I'm also sure it's hard to feel like we're changing when we're so stuck in the moment, and the moment is really awful. I often feel suspended. When a friend tells me "you sound good" on the phone, it makes me realize I must have sounded horrible.

thinking of you. And sorry about the dog.