Live Outside of Society

Day 728.

Why are the days, the weeks preceding Luke’s yahrzeit, any different to any other?

Because they are. Because everything comes back at you.

Do grieving Mother’s have to live outside society? Just as my friends did in early recovery? What world is this?

I’ve slipped through a net, and no one has noticed. This is how we lose people.

Do people think we are done? Do people think we are over it?

“You can’t keep playing the dead kid card,” yep, someone actually said that to an employee!

So what should we do when we have a moment, a month, a week - when our loss creeps into our soul, and we cannot function? Should we lie? Medicate ourselves? Hide?

How do we deal with these brutal attacks, opinions from outside, silent or spoken, that we should be normal again?

People take demotions. People resign. People withdraw.

I hear you - we are burdensome. But is there no room in society or the workplace for us? Is there no place in society, in the workplace for people with any sort of emotional affliction? Is this why medication is so rife? Because fitting in is the only way to be employable? Acceptable?

Is this sentiment what killed my son? Because I’m telling you - it makes it tough for me to see a reason to live.

How can I be happy in the skin I’m in when it puts me outside society? Far away outside.

They don’t know they are doing it, but I am never visited, seldom called and apart from paid therapists - I really have no one to talk to about my agony.

If this opioid crisis puts over 200 women a day in my position, think how fucked the USA will be if they are all medicated. Win/win Pharma. You get to medicate us as we grieve for the children that you killed.

And so I will persist with appearing normal. Society is clear that it doesn’t want us any other way.

At 728 days, my time for grieving Luke has somehow expired, with permitted highlights at birthdays and yahrzeits.

But the feelings have not expired, it is everyday and all the time.

Here’s the truth: I won’t call you, I won’t ask for help, I won’t reach out, because I am ashamed that I am still this sad.

I have nothing for you.