Pieces of me

    I choose to name this blog Konnor’s Lullaby because what he left us was to me the likeness of a soft sweet song. The gentle sound of his laughter like music playing in my heart that is everlasting. It is his lullaby.

When we first lost him I couldn’t bear to listen to music. For two weeks my world was silent. For me, music was always a part of my life. It made me happy, it helped me when I was going through something difficult, it was my healing grace. I eventually turned it back on. But it couldn’t be sad music. I had to listen to Hole or Nirvana, Zeppelin. Music that was less likely to provoke an emotional response.

Funny thing is, I fight to prevent the emotional response but I have learned that literally anything can lead me to that state of emotional breakdown I fight against every day. It’s inevitable. This is as much a part of me as anything else. The new me. In pieces.

I spend so much time thinking about how I can get back to being myself and trying to get back to life without so much time in my head or so much time alone.  However folks, this is the thing. I spend so much time alone because this is how I like it. I don’t have anything to talk about to anyone. I don’t have the energy for idle gossip or nonchalant conversation.

I went away last weekend to a dear friend’s house in upper Wisconsin. It was beautiful, serene. But I ended up feeling guilty because I am not myself or who she knows me to be. Even though she has known me for many years, I am not the same. I don’t know that I will ever be. I am not the “fun” person I was. The wit and humor that I prided myself on is buried somewhere within me.

Months have passed and time has not eased the ache, it hasn’t let me resume a normal life. The death of this child has rocked my core and this may very will be what is left of me. I have been shattered. Am I wrong to assume that I can be who I once was?  I think I may be very wrong. I may find bits and pieces of my former self but I don’t believe I can ever return to my whole former self after such a tragedy.

Konnor was a piece of me. He was my daughter’s son, she was my daughter, he was a piece of me. A piece of me is forever missing. A. Piece. of. me.

Oh, there are glimpses of me. Every so often I will let some words of wisdom fly out of my mouth and it will get the laughs I expected. In that single moment, just those few sentences, exhausted me. I can physically feel my heart sinking all the way to the pit of my stomach. The energy I exerted to rejoin society, the land of the living, has just made me physically ill. The burning feeling in my gut is reminding me that I don’t even want to try. It’s there to remind me that my heart is screaming within me. I am not ready.

There are pieces of me that I may never be able to bring back. I believe they died with Konnor. But it is my hope that I can eventually get back out there and rejoin my little circle of friends and live and laugh again. For now, I’m in no rush.

For Konnor ~ “You don’t cross my mind, you live in it.”

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Grieving Grandmother to Konnor Mason who passed suddenly at eight years old on November 22, 2015. With this blog I hope to share my thoughts and feelings as I move forward through grief toward hope and healing.

2 thoughts on “Pieces of me

  1. This is where I am right now. I am obsessed with cleaning or yard work orrrrrr I want to be in bed and left alone. I have no joy. I hurt and ache all the time. I want to be happy, to re-join the life I had, but I cant. Like you said…..it’s to exhausting. It’s not worth it. I have found myself buying myself all of these new clothes. I NEVER bought anything for myself. Seriously, like next to never….I am not though, I guess to make myself happy? How stupid is that though? I don’t go out, I HATE to even get dressed so WHY would I do something so dumb? I can’t even understand or make sense of myself. How could I expect anyone else to? I feel terrible knowing that others feel like I do. This is a horrible, hallow shell of the me I was.

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    1. We learn to accept ourselves as this new person we have become. I have also gone out shopping to try and make myself feel better. I have learned that it doesn’t work. I rarely go out either. The hardest part for us grievers is learning to live again. It starts with a lot of help. Hugs to you. I know how you feel.

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