Grief is such a strange thing. It is almost like a wild cat, needing to be domesticated so that it can live with a family, in their home, without hurting anyone.
I mean, I haven’t exactly been happy since Andrew died, but I have sometimes felt dulled into not feeling, plus activism is therapeutic for me.
Going to Washington last month, working on the Fair now, it dulls the pain. I can get so involved with exploring and implementing the many ideas that keep coming to me, that sometimes I even feel happiness and joy, at having the privilege of working on something so important and meaningful.
Then, maybe because I am making too much noise, or I get careless, and the wild cat starts to twitch. Before I know it, it’s gone berserk, it got control of me and it’s roaring, growling, biting and clawing me.
These past few days it’s been like… It’s been as if a curtain in my mind opens, and I see Andrew’s death. It is a vision so frightening, so appalling, so grotesque, so surrealistic and painful, that even though the curtain closes again fairly quickly, the horror lingers on and on in my mind’s eyes, in my heart’s eyes.
I feel raw and dismembered anew, I feel Andrew’s loss all over again.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust the wild cat that has moved into my house, I’ll just have to learn to live with it and tread carefully.
I also know that my son never meant to hurt anyone.
I feel that it breaks Andrew’s heart to see the devastation left behind by his suicide. And I don’t want him to feel bad because for him to kill himself, he must have been suffering a living hell, silently, all by himself, to protect us. I want him to be at peace, I don’t want him to have to worry about us… and yet… I cannot let him go.
Dear Lord, help me let my son go so that he can be fully with you.