The Physical Side of Grief

My body feels crumpled, clinched. The weight of my pain is hard and heavy. Suppressive. It sits on my neck, shoulders and back. It wraps around me and keeps me from breathing. Consuming. My chest is tight. Tight is an understatement. Locked. My heart pounds through my chest as if trying to escape. Pounds, skips, stops, pounds. I feel the adrenaline course through my body. My anger, my rage, my sadness, my confusion, my constant questioning. I taste metal. Pound, skip, stop, pound. My blood runs cold. My fingers are blue. My hands shake, my legs tremble beneath me. My skin cracks and peels. My stomach is in knots, I have no appetite. I eat anyway and food sits like a rock.

I love you!

My beautiful sweet little boy... please give me strength.

I want nothing more than to honor your name. Avery Malcolm Whitlow!

We will never forget you!

The day will come when we will reclaim your story!

I love you I love you I love you!

Over the falls

Today I am at a loss. I so desperately want someone to tell me what to do. I wish someone could just  puppeteer my body. I am exhausted. I have no answers. And with every breath there are only more questions.

To be fair. I dont think there is actually anything anyone can say to satisfy me. And maybe I do have the answers. But its never the answer you want. To do the right thing is often the hardest. I dont want things to be hard anymore. I want a break. I want to just go with the flow for a while. But instead I must continue to paddle hard and fast so that I dont go crashing over the falls.