Dual Grieving?
that haunting question of which of my sons died first has settled into radical acceptance. it has been 27 months since the question presented at the midway point between ys's coffin and es's stoic, morbidly obese silence in the center rear of the funeral room. i've known for a goodly while now that the question wasnae going to go away just because i donae like it, even when i can make sense of it. there have been many days when i have wondered if the silence of estrangement really is the silence of death. if es died, it is quite possible i would nay be notified, even if the authorities knew where to find me. there is seldom much energy put into investigating the deaths of middle aged homeless drug addicts.
this morning i have current evidence that es is still alive in the form of an email sent from a public library continuing a grammar debate from an earlier email. the infamous "allot, alot, a lot" debate i have been hearing since my 1964 spelling bee championship. personally, i go with whichever spelling the teacher, co-worker, spell checker or whom/whatever prefers. it be all the same to me. let us have some phun with funetix. grammar is little more, nor less, than the art of using the words to discredit the message. please donae ask me to take the words more seriously than the message. there be alot to allot on a lot. now let me hear you say that three times, fast.
the words of the current evidence that es is still alive be few and oblique. are there messages there? across the thunderous silence of parent/child estrangement, the potential messages seem infinite. best to just let the mystery be.
i am grateful for the evidence that my eldest son is still breathing.
leaving the mood icon on the rapid cycling median. it be allot, alot and a lot to process.
Replies
you are so strong. sending a big hug.
Sending lots of love and positivity your way.
Big hug Arf..... I'm sorry that you're really feeling the grief right now sweetie... the holidays I often find particularly hard as well.... I'm really glad that you received a sign.... I have prayed for and received one as well.... No post mortem however I know I was blessed.... I hope that you have a peaceful Christmas sweetie.... xo
has it really been over a month since i wrote this entry? time do fun when you are having fly. it is even more surprising that it has been 28 months since the funeral which gave birth to this dichotomy. the most recent evidence the ES is still breathing came in the form of a brief and scanty email exchange in search of a valid library card he could use, first with hubs, then with myself. sorry charlie. neither of us have renewed our library cards in recent years. i am embarrassed to say that, at present, i do not have a valid library card, anywhere. i cannot remember the last time i used a public library for anything other than internet access while i was on the road. i donae even use my personal library much anymore. even with the books in front of me, it is far easier to look up whatever on my surf toys than fool with the single definition i can get from the book in front of me.
methinks it feels right to grieve the loss of both my sons simultaneously. whatever the future of our relationship, the past feels defined and in need of closure. i have stood at this crossroad long enough. it has been too long since anything loving or kind has entered the crossroad. at present, i canae even imagine a premise by which we can start anew.
i think. . .
maybe. . .
for sure, grief is a mysterious process.
i still miss both of my sons.
processing. . .
we still own real estate in the urban center where both of my sons were born and raised. it be the house we traded for in 2011. the house where we raised our sons was in the southwest quadrant of the city. when hubs took the job he retired from in the northeast quadrant of the city, it was only an 18 mile commute from home. over the course of time, the traffic in that 18 miles morphed into a drawn out, stressful affair. hubs had already had one stress related near-death-experience we decided it was prudent to get that commute out of his routine by trading the family house for one closer to his work. i was already knee deep in my river research and on the road allot, so it was all the same to me.
both adult sons, then 31 and 27, pretty much moved in with the furniture. ys moved his fiancee in, without asking, a year later. i'm not certain how much of this hubby was aware of. he was always working and we were shouting and screaming at each other far more than we were talking. hubby withdrew support for my river research and i moved out in 2013. at present, i call that entire metroplex, "my toxic mom throne." please don't ask me to sit there.
thoughts on what to do with that real estate are still quite constipated. wishing for a big ol' bowel movement? a holy shit?
the good news is that the value of that real estate is still escalating, despite the neglect. by the current measure, it is downtown music city. a city of dreams.
happy birthday, beloved son. the physical fact that you arenae here to celebrate doesn't change the fact that it has been 38 years since i gave birth to you. this be your third posthumous birthday.
i believe you already know your children are holding a steady course through their transition to orphanhood. i feel both you and your wife lingering often as we chug through the daily lives which have begun to feel stable enough to trust. your eldest daughter is still obsessing over your absence, but seems to be responding well to our ongoing speculations about the nature of your still active presence in our lives. your son seems to be losing some of his chronic dissociation, but is doing well in his steps toward socialization. the beautiful daughter you tried to hide from us remains too young to understand the depth of her loss, but her vibrant 3 year old audacity is eagerly engaging in the life which is available to her.
this year our schedule is open to celebrate your birthday, but the subject has yet to come up in the busy chaos of the week. i am doubtful we will make it a big deal today. your absence remains a big deal, by nature. i amnae at all sure it is wise to make it a bigger deal than it is by nature. i am shooting for awareness without obsessing. it matters in a million ways, but life goes on.
i miss you, beloved son.
earlier this week, hubs showed me a series of emails he had recently received from eldest son. i purposely skimmed such details as how many emails and how long ago hubby received them and focused on the progress that hubby had showed them to me at all. is it progress that he showed them to me before responding? that we were able to talk about it a bit in calm, civil tones? my curiosity has since been scampering the edges of the eggshell piles surrounding the subject. has he answered? should i ask?
the emails were of the egocentric, disjointed chaos i have come to summarize as, "manic broadcast." 'tis a manic broadcast and nothing more. just a frazzled outcast from a heart that is sore. just listen. ears open, mouth shut.
processing. . . prayers ongoing. . . praying gives me something to do when there is nothing i can do.
a day or three ago, on another website similar to this one, i started a dialog with a troubled adult who triggered the estrangement grief i am processing over es. as with the middle aged child i am grieving, this dialogs have yet to have a happy ending, but i feel compelled to keep trying. in actual fact, the odds are tremendously high that not a single one of these anonymous people are as much like es as i am visualizing. rather than doing the messy research/math to compare by, i approach these exchanges as psychotherapy exercises. i allow myself to visualize these brothers and sisters-in-healing AS my eldest son. this has resulted in more than one forum spat sufficient to rally the entire www troll patrol. castigation warranted. i only opine that the other parties deserved equal castigation, but i accepted my own reprimands with respect for the need. such forum spats impact the entire virtual community. proof unavailable, but i strongly suspect my assumptions of the other party arenae more accurate than their assumptions are of me.
perhaps i should be prosecuted for psychotheorating without a license, but as a psychotherapy exercise, these exchanges offer glimpses of how verbally brutal and assumptive i have been with es. they offer me opportunity to fine tune my perspective on and reactions to him. when to press on. when to back off. when and how to leave the playing field altogether.
here in real time, there has been no contact since the week of his departed brother's 38th birthday.