There is no easy way to adjust to your child being gone. It brings up an intensity of feelings you would prefer never knowing: rage, terror, anxiety, guilt, and despair. Sometimes it almost feels like a type of insanity, trying to get out of your body that hurts so much so you can get rid of the pain. I never knew grief was such a heavy physical sensation...as if someone had tied bags of rocks to my hands and feet and filled my chest with them making it almost impossible to move and breathe. And sometimes it's feels like claustrophobia, like being trapped, buried alive, again unable to breathe, clawing to get out and get air. And it's all overwhelming, and you just sit with your bucket so full of heavy painful things that you can't lift it.
For my friends who have been through this, I am sorry I didn't understand better. I am sorry for the woman who came into my office beside herself with grief, and me curiously wondering why it was so difficult for her, thinking "Boy, does she need help!". I am so sorry about that now.
This year has also taken me on a deeper journey in my faith. Hundreds of unanswered questions have fallen to the floor like disregarded ashes off the tips of burning cigarettes. But strangely, unasked questions are getting answers. I hear, "Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted." I didn't exactly ask God what He's going to do about all this, but there's the answer. The promise of comfort, some here and certainly the rest of it in the future when I'm with Him.
The Lord is near to all who call upon Him, To all who call upon Him in truth. He will fulfill the desire of those who fear Him; He also will hear their cry and save them. (Ps 145.18-19)