Grief and Moving Forward
Life can change fast, can’t it? You will likely understand why I ask this as you read. Please give me some room and forgive any errors I have made. Thanks so much ❤
Been thinking over my “writing career” for a few days lately. My brain is tired; I have imminent time on my hand as I spend 99% of my day at home with my husband. Three months ago (has it really been that long), my son and husband were walking home from the store while I was at work (the first real paying job I’d gotten since I came here to Colorado in 2012).
Thirty minutes after I got home at 10:30 pm., two police officers and a bunch of grief counselor people showed up at my door and informed me that my husband was in surgery and my baby (5) was dead. As anyone would, I freaked out and screamed and cried for maybe 15 minutes. They wanted to take me to the hospital so I called everyone I knew, snapped into practical mode and for the next 2 weeks, dealt with Raphael in a medical coma for the first 6 days of his hospitalization (unaware of Ish’s passing), setting up the funeral arrangements, and all the other things I had to do. Friends surrounded me and helped me set up funds for living and strangers came out of the woodwork to help make sure I ate and then I had to move to another apartment so that Raphael could eventually come home (wheelchair bound). His entire right side was tore up from his shoulder which was badly broken to his leg which had to be amputated below the knee.
It is now months after our sweet child died. Raphael’s physical being is healing up. He’s about ready to start physical therapy and eventually to be fitted for a prosthesis. Emotionally, we’re hanging in there as well. Some days, we’re almost normal; other days, it’s nearly impossible to get out of bed. Not having my Ishaq around; the thought of facing another day without that amazing boy, is more than I can bear, but I have to move forward. I have to be the strong one right now, though Raphael is always in my corner is very sensitive to me.
Now that things are evening out, I am thinking ahead to where I need to earn a living, some kind of way. With taking care of Raphael day and night, I need to find a way to earn a living, preferably out of the home. Writing is what I want to do but alas, I fear the spark is gone. Maybe it’s fear; maybe it’s God saying I’m not meant to write; maybe it’s fear (oh, I think I said that; must be true!). Can I write? What direction do I want to take my work? Am I delusional to think I have stuff in my soul that others might want to read? I don’t know. I guess time will tell. I have a whole lifetime, minus my third and youngest child, to try to make the rest of my life mean something and honor the little boy who filled his father and my life so meaningful. He’s missed so much!! As to my writing? Only God knows (literally) whether or not I’m supposed to write or even if I CAN write.