Everyone dealing with grief has their own methods of dealing with it. I know that I’ve mentioned that I wear Bryce’s clothes. Mostly his shirts but when it was still cold out, I was also wearing his hoodies and sometimes his sweatpants. I still sleep with his blanket on my bed. I still sleep with 2 round, fuzzy pillows that he had on his bed. I stole those off of his bed a couple of days after his accident because they smelled so strongly of him. He slept on them every night so they had a mixture of his usual scent, his shampoo, and his horrible, horrible stink that I never thought I’d miss. I slept with my face pushed into the pillow with the strongest scent until the smell wore off because it was the only way I was able to get any sleep in the early days. I can’t really smell him on that pillow any longer but I notice our dog still nuzzling it so I’m guessing he can. But even without the smell, I still hold that pillow every single night when I sleep. Just like I held my baby boy when we’d fall asleep on the couch together when he was a newborn.
But back to the clothes. Why is it that something as simple as clothing comforts me even the tiniest amount? Who knows? Grief is a weird ass bitch. So is the mind. The only times I’ve worn shirts that were my own were for the 2 days of a work conference and when I went to a concert recently and for both of those events, I had one of Bryce’s white tank tops under my shirts because I didn’t feel ready to be without his clothes.
Of course, I know that nothing will happen if I stop wearing his clothes every day and just add them to the rotation with my own. I’m fully aware of that. I even know that I now have my anxiety in check just enough that NOT wearing his clothes won’t trigger panic. It has actually been a while since I’ve had a panic attack but I know they can still be triggered. I know that my mind is still technically in survival mode and it will do what it needs to do to protect itself if it feels danger and you can’t always predict when that danger will appear.
So if all of that is the case, why do I still find myself grabbing his clothes every day instead of mine? Why do I feel that drive? That instinct? Is it my mind protecting me from the potential of my anxiety freaking out on me? Or maybe it is my heart just wanting that reminder of my son touching me throughout the day so I feel him with me? Or is it simply habit now after over five months?
I have no fucking clue.
All I do know is that I’m tired.
I’m tired of the pain.
I’m tired of the grief.
I’m tired of missing my baby.
I’m tired of seeing the stretch marks on my belly and having even more reminders of the beautiful boy who gave them to me and how he is not here.
I’m tired of the lower back pain that I still get that started as sciatica when I was pregnant with that 8lb 7oz baby boy and how now even my fucking back pain is a reminder of how much I miss him.
I’m tired of living in fear of being triggered by my PTSD anytime I see flashing police lights in the dark.
I’m tired of the fear of being triggered to think of my boy and his last moments by everything around me, even by school when I’m having to learn about head injuries.
I’m tired of going so long doing “okay-ish” just to have a day like today where I was just suddenly and out of the blue overstimulated while at work to a place of high anxiety that I hadn’t felt in weeks.
I’m tired of therapy even though I know I need it and even though my fucked up head needed it even before this because it’s so fucking hard to have to sit there and face my grief head-on even though I know I couldn’t push it away if I tried.
I’m tired of Mom pt 2 and my ex and I checking on each other all the time…not because it’s a bad thing…but because it’s fucking bullshit that we even HAVE to do it because he should be here.
I’m tired of Rory, Shae and I checking on each other so often for the same fucking reason.
I’m tired of knowing that my ex, his mom pt 2, and I have to represent him on something next month because he can no longer do it himself even though he’d been doing so for almost 3 years (if I have the emotional bandwidth once that “something” is over next month, maybe I’ll elaborate…I don’t know). I am tired of not having him here to spend time with his baby brother. I am tired of not having him here with his other siblings. I am tired of not having him here with his niece. I am tired of not having him here with Rory. I am tired of not having him here with his dad and mom pt 2. I am tired of not having him here to continue building an adult relationship with my dad. I am tired of not having him here with his best friend and all of his other friends. I am tired of not seeing his smile. I am tired of not hearing his laugh. I am tired of not having him here to hug. I am tired of not having him here to laugh with me. I am just…tired.
Grief is a B!tch 