I sit alone at night and ask, "Where's my Cryssy?
In a voice mail the night before, Cryssy told me how much she loved me. I am a devastated, grieving mother and I didn't know life could be this painful. No, it's not painful, it's torture. She was my first precious baby and I can't see her anymore.
Her sisters, Jackie, Jenny, and Cindy, and her little brother Andrew are all grieving with the loss of a sister. I pray that they'll be all right.
Cryssy was 30 years old, and Jackie is 28. They were only 21 months apart. They've been through a lot together and now she's gone. Now, as I sit here at my desk, I am completely unable to function. I have stacks of bills I haven't paid since Cryssy died, and I'm so lost, I can't bring myself to care. I can't really talk to people very well.
Was it not for a group of beautiful people in my life. My loving husband, Rick, our other 4 kids, my sister, Kay and her kids I would be completely alone. Most folks, including my own brother David, don't get it, and does not want to get it. So, they never will.
In response to the impending memorial for my daughter, my oldest brother called me: I'm sorry for your loss, but due to previous plans, I will be unable to attend the wake. That was it; he did the services (but not like he was asked to.) Wow, thanks for reaching out bro. You're all heart. Why not just kick my teeth in, take my wallet and burn my house down?
Being a bereaved parent is like being a leper. Nobody wants to touch you for fear of catching the one disease that no one will ever want. It's an affliction so horrible that people don't talk about it.
And damn near all the people in your life just want you to quit your whining and get over it and revert back to whom you once were. They want you to do that because they're only compelled to serve their own narcissistic needs, and all they know is that you're really messing with their comfort zone.
And since the real-you (whom they really never taken the time to know) has never been a consideration, they couldn't possibly believe you possess either the intelligence nor the sensitivity to see through their illusion. They do not know anything about your newly found, yet unwanted x-ray-cut-through-tripe-vision. So, they remain confident that if they simply apply the because-I-care decoy, you somehow will not notice the Mt. Rushmore of truth that is staring you dead in the face.
The horrible thing that you discover about all these so-called friends and loved-ones is that, although their posture of superficiality is consistent - you know, the we care about you thing, their actions speak volumes. And eventually, an even-more heart-breaking realization breaks the surface: In all the time you have known them, they have never loved you, so much as they have loved themselves through you.
And you further realize that, to them, you have simply stepped out of character. You are no longer playing that Clockwork role they cast for you. You are just not sticking to the script. People, lets break for lunch. It is a frightening revelation, and at the same time, you actually feel sorry for them.
You are saddened and angered by the realization that they are a long way from being alive, because if they were incapable of extending true, unconditional love to you in your time of dire need, they are about as alive as Elvis. And truthfully, all you really want or need from them is just a resembling of understanding. That is all. You do not need money, things, and you damn-sure do not need advice that is motivated by someone else's need to hear themselves talk, while getting you back into character.
And I tell you this: I pray that you never do? But if and when you ever lose a child, you will know like you have never known before that you are alive, because every cell in your body will writhe in agony.
And so it is that even without having asked for it, you are suddenly being introduced to life and death at the same time. Oh, how do you do? My name is Janet, the dead girls mom.
What becomes abundantly clear is, if these so-called friends and loved-ones were acting out of love and kindness, they would realize that losing a child is a loss that knows no parallel, and they would stop being driven by their own selfish needs. In short, they would understand.
But they are so disinterested in learning about the magnitude of your loss, they do not have a clue that you no longer have the luxury of being the person you were, nor will you ever. It amazes me, that they never even stop to think that, given the choice you would never have agreed to live on the deserted island of depression, anger, grief and despair, where you now reside. Yet you are marooned. A month after Cryssy died, my sisters husband George died from Kidney Cancer he had been fighting for 1 year. The compassion continues, as I am the one comforting them.
And to date, I do not seem to be in any shape to help anyone else when I can not help myself. What I am interested in is the one that suffers from insomnia and spins around in my mind, day-in/day-out, simply wanting to know, "where's my Cryssy?"
