The relief. The utter relief of feeling joy.
It can happen again.
Sure, it was brief. But it was there. For the first time in more than three months, I felt okay. My heart stopped aching temporarily. I felt almost high on joy. It had been so long.
Sure, I have laughed since William died. At things that I genuinely found funny. But this feeling was different. This was that light-hearted, care-free feeling that you experience as a child playing with a puppy for the first time. Pure delight. The feeling was fleeting — it only lasted through maybe two songs as I was driving home from a workout. But it was there. Thank God!
I was beginning to feel like I was fighting a never-ending battle against this creeping depression that just won’t leave. I have been trying so, so hard to fight the thoughts that constantly invade my head. It seems like I am always thinking about William — how big he would be now, how my life would be so different as I await his impending arrival. How much I miss him. How scared I am that I will never have living children. How horrible it is to lose a son. How hard it is for people to acknowledge my son’s existence or my existence as a mother. How hard it is for me to talk about how I’m feeling. How worried I am that people think I should be over it by now. How much I have to work to fight back the tears when people say hurtful things like, “Just try again.” How much I want people to understand that a child — no matter the age — is irreplaceable.
I’ve been working overtime attempting to battle these emotions and thoughts. But it’s like they are trapped in my brain. And they are bringing me down. I began to believe that I would always, always be fighting against this new extremely depressed, bitter version of the new me.
I hate these thoughts. I hate these feelings.
But today, for a brief moment, they were gone.
I had just gone to a mindfulness class, then a spinning class. Sweat pouring down my face, legs feeling like Jello, I stumbled to my car following the gym class. I started to drive. “Hooked on a Feeling” came on the radio. I found myself singing along. I found myself genuinely happy. I was amazed. I reveled in the feeling. It has been so, so long I forgot what bliss felt like. For a minute, I felt guilty. I shouldn’t be feeling joyful — my child had died three months ago. Then I decided, “No, you need this! You are craving this feeling. Cherish it. Soak it in.” And, so, I allowed myself to sing along.
I let my heart feel pure joy. I absorbed the feeling and clung onto it for as long as I could. I felt hope. New thoughts crept into my mind. I can survive this. I will survive this. And I will feel joy again. The joy and the pain can co-exist. There will always be the pain, but there is room in my heart for the joy, too.
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Great article. I found it really hard to be joyous after I lost my son, but in time it came to me. Especially when my niece had her gorgeous baby and then another one. The joy those girls bring to my heart is just incredible. Sebastian would be loving his cousins and he would want me to feel that happiness that I couldn’t get by cuddling him and hearing him giggle.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Julie. I’m so glad you were able to find joy in your niece’s children. I love how you are able to think of what Sebastian would have wanted and are able to feel happiness for him. Thinking of you both.