This is Why I Grieve So Hard
Since things have been looking very grim for remaining at my homestead, I have been locked in grief. I weep spontaneously, and waves of anger come upon me when I least expect it. I have been crying and shouting in the shower, shaking with rage while the water pounds down. “Why did this have to happen? Why now?” All this is very new to me, and I try to wash it away, but I emerge still sad.
As much as I give effort to positivity in this situation, I seem to default back to grief. My husband is a positivity gestapo, making sure I don’t snipe when someone chirps something that hits me the wrong way. He monitors my social media comments, my blog, and keeps trying (in vain) to redirect me into a more positive emotional state.
However, if I can’t grieve, I will never get over this.
I have decided to try to put into words for all of my friends trying to cheer me up, all the reaons why I am grieving so hard by explaining what I have lost. This brief list doesn’t come close to describing the depth of the loss for me, but it gives some inkling of why I am so very sad. As you can see, I have avoided the tangible items I lost and focused here on the intangibles.
I’ve lost my comforts of home.
I’ve lost my routine, my sameness.
I’ve lost my convenience to my life, my errands, my synagogue, my work.
I’ve lost my future visions of an expanded family celebrating together in these walls.
I’ve lost all of the creativity I put into our living spaces.
I’ve lost my neighborhood that I love so dearly, as well as my neighbors who won’t be my neighbors anymore.
I’ve lost a place to live.
I’ve lost an address that has been mine for many years.
I’ve lost time.
I’ve lost security.
I’ve lost the safety of knowing my place.
I’ve lost my place on the planet.
I’ve lost a house that I loved.
I’ve lost my identity in a way. I was a Meyerlander-proudly, happily a resident.
I’ve lost NORMAL. Normal life is GONE, and I am grieving that too.
I haven’t had time or the brain to process where I will end up – it’s a giant unknown. When this kind of move is planned, there is closure – even if there is some sadness accompanying it. This shocking exit is a wide open gaping sore. It’s a decision that I had no control over, and my destiny was re-written by Mother Nature.
I watch other people going on and about in their lives and realize that my life and others impacted by the flood have come to a screeching halt- still in frozen limbo about where any of us will end up.
And so I grieve. Unless you have been through a trauma like this, a devastation, a major loss, you probably wouldn’t understand. So please bear with me.