I wish I didn't have to but maybe I meant to clarify why I am writing here.
Journal writing is like breathing for me. Twenty years of journal writing sit in big Rubbermaid boxes in my garage. I use these little books to keep time, to remember, to vent, to help myself understand things that feel overwhelming. I make shopping lists, write down nightmares and funny dreams, I draw pictures, I have even taken it out of my purse and let the kids scribble and play hang-man in it when we are someplace stuck waiting.
When Stevie got sick I found an online support group for parents of children who have brain cancer. It was creepy signing up but I was lost and terrified and I needed to connect with someone, anyone. I felt like we were floating in the ocean in a life raft, just Stevie and I. we were so alone.
This group of parents embraced me and helped me navigate. I grew stronger writing about my feelings, without the fear of judgement. There was no pity, we were all floating in the same rafts in the same sea. Alone we were so small but when we tied ourselves together we were bigger and stronger and there was so much hope.
I ended up being a moderator for this group and was active for six years. I hated it when someone new came on, it meant another child was sick but it also feels so incredible to reach out and tie them up to your boat. I left the day Stevie died. I did not want anyone there to be a part of the sadness, I didn't want to steal hope.
A couple months later I discovered this blog-thing.
It gives me the opportunity to continue writing with open honesty. It helps me heal and grow. I have made connections through this blog and that is a bonus I didn't expect.
My hope is that maybe someone who has lost someone, or who loves someone who is experiencing loss will find this blog and it will give them a little insight or help them not feel so alone.
I know myself, I am a survivor. I am almost certain this blog will be about surviving.
My husband...
He wishes he could comfort me. He wishes he could connect with me on a deep intimate level.
He read my blog.
I thought it would help him understand me better, know what I am feeling. This is the real me at the moment. It is not all of me but it is who I am right now and it is how I feel.
He told my daughter Aly that he feels I am using this blog to illicit sympathy.
That hurts.
I feel I had to write this post so that I could go on writing honestly without any road blocks or censorship.
This blog is not intended to illicit sympathy, but really how could it not. It is about a grieving mother who has lost her young daughter to cancer, you would have to be made out of titanium not to feel a little sad.
I don't want pity. I just want a place to write it all down so it does not make a bigger hole inside me. The connections are wonderful. The comments I am sent are kind and supportive and they fill me with such comfort.
I would never want this blog to hurt anyone in anyway.
The truth about me is that I am at my best when I can be the real me. When I write, the real me slides out so effortlessly.
Thank you, all of you who how found little ways to let me know I am not alone even now when my best friend in the world is so far away.
2 comments:
YOU have to turn to something, to someone to feel YOU are not alone. How did I get here??? It was my little Turtle Boy that came visiting me this summer! He loved cherry tomatoes! I started putting turtles in my collages. I donated 2 tiles from my collages to the "HOPE SEES A STAR" auction and my "She Is My Friend" tile caught someone's eye. Was it the turtle?on top of the girl's head? I read later on how Stevie liked turtles. I made that collage because someone from Blogging lost her baby. I said on my Blog, I loved what it said about turtles."Home is where YOUR heart is, well their home is right above them! I told Thea I couldn't come to where she lived but I could HUG her in an art piece! Maybe that's what caught your eye Gina, the turtle and the tender embrace between 2 friends! It just about broke my heart when I read on this Blog YOU were reminding yourself to bid on a tile! I'm soOOOOOOoo GLAD YOU did! That's how we met! I"m glad YOU are writing and healing here. It's comforting to KNOW SOMEONE else is out there and feels your pain. It helps. I know because my dad was sick last year and almost died but I wrote about what I was going through and my commenters did TRULY help me get through! They were there when my real friends weren't! I'm here Gina Gabriell and I'm not leaving YOU! Love and many prayers sweet girly! xoxoxox, Cinda
Miss Gina,
You are so loved, and so brave. People who try to elicit pity put you off. I wish I could be closer, and a better friend to you. The absolute opposite of pity.
I am having a hard time, missing both of my parents right now. I hold it in. It hurts, it feels messy to share it with others. The other night, I cried, I couldn't stop. I wanted a parent. I felt ashamed and (yes) pitiful. My husband, who is loving and supportive and wishes he could heal these wounds of mine and (more to the point) make them go away - said this terrible thing to me:
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself."
Gina, I read your blog, and I feel comforted. Your feelings are so real, so honest, you are SO utterly brave for voicing them, sharing them, sharing these whispers of hope and desperation with the world, with whoever might stop to read them.
I feel comforted, even in my loss which does not compare to yours - because I am reminded that no matter what others might say, no matter how hard our feelings might be for others to understand - we are NOT feeling sorry for ourselves. We are NOT eliciting pity.
We are simply - feeling.
If I lost my child - I don't know how I would continue to live. You tell the truth here about how a mother goes on. One grief riddled (often agonizing) step, after another. Desperate, wanting, hurting, the worst that life can dole out.
And yet, in your words, grace floats. It sneaks into the corners, it is illuminated in the cool night and early morning air that you write of so eloquently.
Grace, and healing - tiny glimpses, floating on the wings of a dark black bird.
Life is full of miracles. They are not always pretty, or easy, and often - the miracle of grace tiptoes in on the back of such grevious pain.
But it is there.
Thank you for sharing your journey, your grace, and your grief, with us all.
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