Am I Okay?

Sometimes life is just plain hard and just plain hurts. Those painful difficulties arenae ever isolated events in my life. One thread always leads to another. In my graphic imaginings, the artwork used in science classes and documentaries quickly takes on a life of its own to illustrate the theories of how everything in life is connected, between independant lives as well as past, present and future.

A guilt source within my grief is the wonder of whether the death of their parents actually simplified the childcare equation. I want to ship myself off to the Toxic Mother Landfill for finding anything good within the death of my beloved son, buttttttaaaaa. . . There are strong and valid reasons these children were in protective custody from their parents. By the time the older children (then 2 and 5) were seized and placed with the maternal grandparents, the parental neglect was chronic and escalating to tragic proportions. The greatest violence one can do onto another is to disregard them, altogether. What is neglect ifnae total disregard? As the paternal grandmother, of course I want to defend my son and his over-developed sense of responsibility even encouraged me to blame him for all of ^it^. Frequently. An over-developed sense of responsibility is seldom helpful in the art of juggling a career fit for family support while single-handedly providing daily care for growing children and a disabled spouse. Do the math, beloved son. Do you remember when you were a math prodigy? That is ALLOT of ground for one body to cover, especially when severe social anxiety is high on the spouse's disability list. Social anxiety doesnae make it easy to keep outside help. For sure, her "Monster-in-law" was reluctant to approach the barbed-wire, land-mine saturated MIL/DIL DMZ, even without three children in tow, acting like children responding to incomprehensible grown-up conflict. In conversation between her husband and I, we called that particular ^it^, "Social Anxiety." I was far from the only potential help source rejected by her Social Anxiety. My beloved son and I speculated often on whether "Agoraphobia" was too strong a dx for her disability list. My son's disability list was far shorter than hers, but "Paranoid Schizophrenia" isnae a lightweight dx in its own right. His suma cum laude training in D.A.R.E. and Zero Tolerance never did reconcile the fuzzy lines between drug addiction and Med Therapy. To the best of my knowledge, nary a blood test was performed to confirm which side of that controversy he was on when he turned that vehicle into the path of the cattle truck behind him. Was my son over-medicated or under-medicated? Which yardstick do we use for the measure? Do I care to know if his in-laws are making that a focal point in their wrongful death lawsuit? I can equally believe his wife was side-seat driving "como una dama culta" and/or in the throes of a social anxiety panic attack. Being in a small, enclosed space with a panic attack victim is hazardous to the health. Do not attempt while driving.

Whatever the evers of all those whats, the approach of their 7th wedding anniversary found them looking like a match made on prime time TV. Sometimes divorce, or at least separation, is the best thing Mom and Dad can do for the kids. Their 7th anniversary was exactly two weeks after the crash.

I believe I am still holding steady in navigating our little ship of fools through these choppy waters. That tempts me to leave the mood indicator at okay, but the temptation isnae strong. My beloved son died. That's a big owie. It hurts. I still miss our periodic bewitching hour collaborations via text. We both did some of our most inspired work during the bewitching hours, whether we woke up or stayed up for the enchantment. I didnae know his wife well enough to love her, but she is an inextricable variable in this equation. There isnae a doubt her two older children love and miss her. I believe there is tragedy in the fact that the baby has no cognative memory of her mother. I solidly believe all three siblings will be stronger for a respectful image of her. I am feeling the grief. ^It^ is horrible. Let the tears flow. There is much to process.

Processing. . . I believe the hard things in life are easier when I let them be hard. Stillnae easy, but easier. Does the adage, "The sooner begun, the sooner done" ply to the grieving process? Prolly not. . . Time has no meaning in the healing process. The healing mysteries go where they go.