Ava and I were listening to my i-pod earlier this evening and a Wallflowers song came on, a song that was played during Mitch's tribute video, and so Ava asked to watch a video of her daddy. I found a video that Mitch's friend took of Mitch rowing the dingie from his sailboat to the pier, talking, laughing, living... And it struck me so deeply to the core, the kind of teeth clenching pain that is hard to express, because it's the kind of pain where you just want to scream in agony and despair, tear your own hair out, lash out at the world (if you have never known this kind of pain, be glad, and if you are scared of this kind of pain, know that you will survive through it), but then there I was sitting with my sweet little toddler as she's saying, “hi daddy!” I felt a wave of pure gut wrenching pain, where all I could do was let my tears flow and hug my daughter hard. The teeth clenching is the sheer disbelief that I will never see him again in that same physical form in which I have always known him... Now, only in my dreams, and well, the afterlife, but for me that seems like a world away, especially as I am about to birth our next daughter. But then life goes on, and I start Ava's bedtime routine, knowing I will need to return to these feelings, somehow let them find expression... And so after she goes to sleep, I write, I cry, I call a friend, and let the pain soften a bit. And I feel Amelie moving around in my belly... And the peace, the sorrow, the agony, the anger, the acceptance, all take turns, all make their appearance in this grieving process, passing through me in waves.
When I write things like this, things that are full of a lot of pain, I know they can be difficult for others to read. But I'd like to respond to this discomfort or pain I may cause in others by saying if it's too much to read, then please don't read it. I don't want to cause pain for others, but I have to be honest with my process, and hope that in doing so, it allows someone else to be more authentic with theirs. This process of self-expression, these emotions that surface after the loss of a soulmate are imminent, and in my opinion, and can only be healed properly if expressed and moved through the body. My form of expression happens to be through writing, and through my education and experience, I know I must feel in order to heal, we all must, as painful as some things are to confront and feel. And to be honest, each time I write, I feel lighter, it helps me to express my experience, and move forward through it, sometimes two steps forward, two steps back... But nonetheless, with movement...