An empty box

From my journal March 14, 2002:

An empty box

Sometimes I feel like one of those boxes you can fold open on both sides so that you can see right through…not like I’m being open and transparent, though. It’s more like something shot right through me and left nothing. I am an open box – an empty square with appendages.

I wake up in the morning feeling like there’s pain filling my entire torso. It seeps into every part of my body.

It’s so hard now that my family’s gone home. People go back to their lives; their lives go on. Ours will never be the same.

Sometimes I think people are so glad it wasn’t them.

Jenna and I have talked about noticing the “Oh, no! Here she comes. Now what do I do?” look that comes into the eyes of people we know when they run into us somewhere. Maybe they think, in our grief, we won’t notice…or won’t notice when someone goes down another aisle in the grocery store so they won’t run into us.

Now is the time when we need people just to hug us and care. Because there were so many people at the memorial service, I think everyone thinks someone else is there for us – calling, being with us. In actuality, almost no one has. No emails. Few calls. I need people to write things – to tell us how they feel, what Jason did for them, fun stories. I know he was a great guy, but it helps to hear something…otherwise, I just feel so alone, like his death meant nothing.

I emailed our old church friends to tell them to come by. Joe is having such a hard time in the evenings. I don’t know how to help him.

Debra* is acting like she knows what I need, how I feel, how to “rescue me.” She says, “It’s okay to grieve. You need to grieve.” Like I haven’t fallen flat on my face on the floor, not able to get up because I’m crying so hard!! She thinks because she’s had people in her family die, she thinks she knows exactly how I feel. She has no clue!

People don’t know what to say. They avoid us, act awkward. I know it’s hard. I know we’re hyper-sensitive right now. We don’t know what we need. We don’t know how to do this.

How do I go on without him? The sunshine in my day. The hugs. The sweet spirit.

I go to school; Joe goes to work. It just all seems so trivial, so pointless.

I just hate this!

© 2011 Rebecca R. Carney

5 thoughts on “An empty box

  1. Pingback: Trust, Once Broken, is Not Easily Mended | Grief: One Woman's Perspective

  2. Pingback: A picture is worth a thousand words | Grief: One Woman's Perspective

  3. Pingback: Home | Grief: One Woman's Perspective

  4. Pingback: Random thoughts for the day – Expectations | Grief: One Woman's Perspective

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