I cried at the gym the other night. The guy beside me on the treadmill probably thought I was insane. But really, crying at the gym isn't a surprise. I cry everywhere. I cry myself to sleep every night. Every night. That isn't an exaggeration.
I wish people would talk to me. It seems avoiding me and my pain makes them feel more comfortable. It is kind of strange how life goes back to normal. We have become forgotten. A story in the past. But, I am still here battling daily to face the day. To take care of my son. To get out of bed.
It sucks that I have to do the reminding that this journey I am on isn't one that I will get over. Ever. I will never get over my Aaron. Sure, in time it'll weave itself into an ache that I can live with. Maybe not, though. I don't know how I'll be in time. I do know in the now, I am hurting and feeling more alone than ever. I miss my baby.
I feel what you're saying, Torie. I remember when Mom died, I took the week off from work to bury her but when I returned, work was piled up on my desk as usual. Those who had lost their mothers knew what to say but those who hadn't wouldn't say anything. I was young when I lost my parents (26 when dad died, 34 when mom died) so not many of my peers had experienced that. You're in the same boat, Torie. So few of your peers have experienced anything like what you're going through. Liz tells me that some hospitals have specific groups and support systems for grieving parents. You were at UNC-Chapel Hill, right? That's a big hospital. You might want to call them and see what they offer. I never sought help after dad and mom died, but I am now. The Emily Couric Cancer Center here at UVA offers various programs to help patients get through their cancer scare.
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