I'm Still Bleeding

The joke among my Mom, Sister, and me has always been "who loves you more than I do?"  As the years have gone by, the answer has changed to the names of boyfriends, husbands, and children.  But in the recent years, the answer between my Sister and me has gone back to "you".  My Sister and I understand that no matter how much our husbands have shared with us, how deeply they've hurt us, how much they've worked to regain our devotion and trust, because we know where we've come from, and how much that lends to the mothers we are now, no one can love either of us more.

That is what I dare to think about when I try to empathize with where you are in the grieving process.  I can't think too hard because the very thought of planning the trip home to a place where my Sister is buried under a headstone rips my heart out.  

God hears you where you are- the raw emotion of your anguish.  There are so many of us praying for you, for the boys, for your mom that God knows your pain.

I love you. 

Renee is, as always, dead-on; warm and articulate in her message. I am so wrought over your emotions, Kim ... like Renee, I can't think about it for too long at a time ... my sister is the rock of our family ... but I went to a funeral today and of course thought of you, your family, burying someone so young, so robbed of her life ... I think it is that rage that must be so difficult to be with ... and the pastor talked about hope. Not hope as in "maybe" but hope as in "faith" that someday you will see each other again, someday you will be "okay" whatever that looks like then. And the one person who loves you like your sister did? That has to be you, yourself ... care for yourself now, Kim, the way she did for you, the way you did for her. Please.

 

Love, love, love to you.

Dear Kim,

So glad you are writing and it is raw and so real. it is times like this that makes me wonder - can we forgive? Ever? I don't know, but people do talk about the "new normal." I don't care for that  term but I know what they mean. you can't let Kay's murderer take your life also.  I don't think Kay would want that either. I know none of us, who love you, want that. We want you to feel it all because one day some light will break through.

I am so happy to see all the love that has been sent to you in so many ways. You deserve it and we are here for you. Including Kay.

love,

elizabeth

 Kim, I love you. Keep writing, keep writing, keep writing. Your words strike deep into our hearts. Share your pain, don't fake anything with us - no fake smiles, no sighs of get through this/you'll move forward. You have permission to be brutally honest with your feelings here; with things that you may not want to share in the company of The Tangible World. I know you're re-living this every waking moment and probably in your sleep and I know that there is absolutely not one thing anyone can do to make this better. Elizabeth's question about forgiveness is interesting to me. As you know, the man that killed my brother did so by way of poor judgment, negligence - drunken and drugged up stupor. I am the only one in my family to be able to forgive him. I don't know if that's because I'm strong enough to forgive or too weak to continue to hate. . .I don't know. It's just what my heart tells me to do. But when I read YOUR words about hour YOUR sister's life was robbed from all of you because of someone else's "choice," because someone decided that HE couldn't live without her. . .it makes me dizzy with anger, thoughts of vengeance and I don't know that I could ever summon whatever it takes to feel anything remotely close to forgiveness. As Elizabeth said, people talk about finding a "new normal." I dislike that term as well, but I can't think of any other words to describe what you're going through and all that you must still go through. Grief is such a personal thing and to have someone suddenly stolen from you by someone else's f**ked up actions compounds the shock, the disbelief, everything. . . You have so much to go through and yes, you will change. You will never again be the same person you were before this happened. No one should expect you to be. But some of the best parts of you are still breathing - as is evidenced in your writing. One of the things that I have always loved about you is the capacity of your heart. You love and extend that love to so many people - I've benefited from it all the way down here in SC, I know it's been felt in New York, Florida, Georgia, California, Africa. . .so while I can plainly, painfully see that your heart is shredded and feels completely destroyed, I can also see that the love in your heart still abides. I know and clearly understand that you are a changed person. I know it doesn't feel this way right now, but (and please forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, please) the depth of your grief; all of the pain you feel; everything that is ripping you apart right now is EVIDENCE of your heart; your love. The kind of pain you feel right now is simply your love for your sister. So, I guess I'm one of those people who will tell you to embrace the pain fully - not the circumstances surrounding the pain, but the pain itself. It's just your heart and soul expressing it's profound love for someone who was taken from you.  xoxo

I'm sitting here now, and my sister is seated beside me. So every single word that you have written reduces me to a spasm of emotion - gratitude that Vicki is still with me, sorrow that Kay is gone, awe that Vicki is still alive despite her son's suicide last year, grief that I miss him, too. Every word that you weep onto the page resonates with me and our experience. I know your despair. My sister knows the inner death that you describe. And yet, just as Jesus was reborn after the raw pain of that cross, so she has found another life here on earth. I say "another" life, because the one she knew with Jordan died when he fell onto the carpet in his bedroom that night. Even saying all of this makes me weep. Every day, there is a reason to remember him and to ache. But I PROMISE YOU that with those memories also come joy that he was part of us for so long and will ever be! God could have placed that child in someone else's family and we are blessed that, instead, it was us and we had him for 16 precious years. We can't change that now he is gone, but we are damn sure celebrating that we were "we" for so long. We are, right this minute, on our annual Celebrate Jordan beach trip, with friends and family, and we still cry when we think of how it should be, with him romping in our midst, but we are holding it together by hanging on to those who are still here and accepting the comfort of those who love us. I am not asking you to be in this place now - you are still bleeding. Just promise me that you'll take God's healing Hand and let Him work His heart straight into yours - it will flow to those around you who also need comfort. Kay's sons will now find her in YOU. The smile you describe on her face is also your own - the lipstick is imprinted on YOUR mouth - the fierce hugs that wrap life straight inside are so YOU. Please continue to share all of that - and her - with those who miss her so fiercely and feel lost without her and those who need to know her still. Your writing will change lives, Kim. Your talent is being elevated to a new dimension of purpose through your pain. Please keep spilling your heart onto the page. We need you. And the world needs to feel as deeply as you do. We love you, love you, love you - in our very own, all-consuming, you-will-never-be-anything-but-stupendously-wonderful way. Deep, deep hugs.

Oh Kim, I echo what everyone is saying.  Keep writing.  Keep it real.  Keep it raw.  Do not edit your feelings for us or for anyone.  Amy is right.  Your heart is so huge and that's why you are hurting so much.  Yes, embrace the pain for a while, but don't let it become who you are forever.  Elizabeth was right - don't let Mike take your life too.  Kay wouldn't want that.  Doesn't want that.  And yes you two will be together again one day.  But until that day continue to bleed, continue to write, and one day...start to heal.  We all love you Kim and are so honored to be loved back by you.  We're here, we're listening, keep writing.

I can't say anything other then I wish I could do something to help you get through this. No one should ever have to go through what you are right now. I am here for you if ever you need me.

My sister is just like a beating part of my heart too. Without her, I don't know...I don't know what...thanks for making sure that I said that to her today. I don't know if I've ever been able to express it. And I KNOW for certain I couldn't do it as beautifully as this.

kim,

i am sending you my love and my heart.  as others have mentioned, keep writing.i know that i go to a dark places sometimes and i cut myself off from my soul and i don't write.  it has made things worse for me.  so, i hope you contunue to purge and share because you are truly an inspiration.

 

in love and peacce,

wolffie

Your writing is so beautiful, please keep writing, we're all praying for you and your family. 

S. J.

Because of you, I'm finishing a blog about loss, one that I've been contemplating since losing my mom- maybe it will offer you some comfort. I hope to have it done soon. I just can't tell you how very sorry I am for what you are going through. 

Prayers!

S. J.

"Zion said, 'The LORD has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me.' Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..." (Isaiah 49:14-16)..."Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. You will increase my honor and comfort me once again." (Psalm 71:20-21)---Praying for you, Kim.

It's called, "the charm bracelet". I hope it will offer you at least an ounce of comfort after your tragic loss.

S. J.

Honey, I'm crying for you. As soon as I saw that picture, I was done for. I'm so sorry for what you're going through, and I wish I could say something more meaningful than that. Just keep getting it all out there, and allow yourself to feel whatever it is you're feeling, be it sadness, anger, numbness, or any combination of these.

Here are some more words from A Grief Observed that I wanted to share:

"Something quite unexpected has happened. It came this morning early. For various reasons, not in themselves at all mysterious, my heart was lighter than it had been for many weeks. For one thing, I suppose I am recovering physically from a good deal of mere exhaustion. ... And suddenly, at the very moment when, so far, I mourned H. least, I remembered her best. Indeed, it was something (almost) better than memory; an instantaneous, unanswerable impression. To say it was like a meeting would be going too far. Yet there was that in it which tempts one to use those words. It was as if the lifting of the sorrow removed a barrier.

Why has no one told me these things? How easily I might have misjudged another man in the same situation? I might have said, 'He's got over it. He's forgotten his wife,' when the truth was, 'He remembers her better because he has partly got over it.'

Such was the fact. And I believe I can make sense of it. You can't see anything properly while your eyes are blurred with tears. You can't, in most things, get what you want if you want it too desperately: anyway, you can't get the best out of it. 'Now! Let's have a real good talk' reduces everyone to silence. 'I must get a good sleep tonight' ushers in hours of wakefulness. Delicious drinks are wasted on a really ravenous thirst. Is it similarly the very intensity of the longing that draws the iron curtain, that makes us feel we are staring into a vacuum when we think about our dead? 'Them as asks' (at any rate 'as asks too importunately') don't get. Perhaps can't.

And so, perhaps, with God. I have gradually come to feel that the door is no longer shut and bolted. Was it my own frantic need that slammed it in my face? The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help may be just the time when God can't give it: you are like the drowning man who can't be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.

On the other hand, 'Knock and it shall be opened.' But does knocking mean hammering and kicking the door like a maniac? And there's also 'To him that hath shall be given.' After all, you must have a capacity to receive, or even omnipotence can't give. Perhaps your own passion temporarily destroys the capacity. ...

... How far have I got? Just as far, I think, as a widower of another sort who would stop, leaning on his spade, and say in answer to the inquiry, 'Thank'ee. Mustn't grumble. I do miss her something dreadful. But they say these things are sent to try us.' We have come to the same point; he with his spade, and I, who am not now much good at digging, with my own instrument. But of course, one must take 'sent to try us' in the right way. God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. In this trial He makes us occupy the dock, the witness box and the bench all at once. He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize that fact was to knock it down."

The more you grieve, the closer you'll get to this point that Lewis describes. Right now, your wounds are too fresh. Just take each day as it comes, one breath at a time. When you least expect it, God, your sister, and the peace WILL come.

Love you,

Tara

 I don't know what to say. I don't know how to say it. I don't know what I would do if I lost my brother. I would die inside. I would die every day. I have been thinking about you non-stop. I am so sorry. Your words have so much strength in them even in the worst tragedy I can imagine. You don't know me, but I'm here, reading steadily, praying for you.