my mother died five months ago. i had my daughter three weeks later. i am twenty-six years old, and sleep is no longer a restful place. piper wakes me up repeatedly throughout the night to nurse, but more than that it is my dreams.
i woke up this morning with it fresh in my mind... in my dream she is sick and dying, and i am crying, trying to hold on, trying to keep her somehow... it has gotten to the point that i dream the same dream every night, the circumstances and setting is different, but she is always dying, and i am always holding on.
i have been wanting relief from this. it occurred to me today that perhaps writing about it might help me release it. perhaps if i release it into writing it will leave my subconscious. although i am prepared to live the rest of my life re-living her death in my dreams. our connection was so powerful, i guess i didn't expect it to go away quietly.
grief feels like a private thing. something that is hard to convey. something that is a solitary and lonely place. so i write tentatively. yet my mother always told me that secrets keep us sick, as far as growing up in an alcoholic home goes. so i wonder if grief should not be a private thing. maybe it needs to see the light of day so that it can grow into something else. i am always for doing things differently.
i am aware it is easy to hide behind words and computer screens. i feel a sense of privacy as i write this by myself, yet i know others will see it. i want others to see it, yet i dont want to talk about it. i think that part of this process for me is allowing myself to be vulnerable with others, to allow myself to make mistakes and to not have to have it all together. so is it wrong to write it rather that speak it? i dont know...
i know i can handle what i uncover.
if i have learned anything in the last five months it is to trust myself. so for now i will trust, and i will write...
