December 3rd- There Is No Peace- Chris Ritchey
My personal day of infamy- December 3rd- has come round again- How can that be? You see the day I lost you, my son, was just yesterday – last night and the pillow was still wet with tears cried in an exhausted sleep as I woke this morning to the rattle of the garbage truck.
There have been so many millions of words , hundreds of thousands of books written about grief and especially the loss of a son or daughter.
Looking for answers, looking for some verification you aren’t alone in your world of agony, you search the words of others. This loss that is so different for me than any other of the losses I have lived through. You wonder……
am I going insane?
Am I alone in this insanity? Do other mothers experience the kaleidoscope of the “being” that I have become- fragmented disjointed only coming to together briefly in a pattern of who I was once for just a brief turn of the day, week, month, year.. When am I supposed to be “healed? People tell me it will get better with time?” Can that be true???? Is there hope the agony will not continue in such terrible strength as to block out any happiness
Sometimes you recognize bits of you in their writings, breathe a sigh of relief when you realize you aren’t alone or insane, abnormal and that maybe you too may be to get better at wearing the mantle of mania that is named “grief”.
Maybe, you may one day have rest without exhaustion and peace ….oh peace…… if only for a few hours, a healing respite from the world where you now tread. Maybe you may be able to function without planning how to manage every day tasks whilst struggling with this crippling grief . You look to see where others are on this journey forced upon you. You hope there is some hope……….
Maybe as time passed it became easier, a hope …. that maybe depending how many months years you are “out from the death” or “into the grief” you will heal have some semblance of acceptance , of peace.
I remember reading, just after Chris died, the words of a mother whose daughter died of Hodgkins two months before Chris. She was my “gauge ” I would follow her thoughts as she wrote of her turmoil. You see I didn’t know how I would live through the next day, how I could endure the loss of you Chris?
I cleaned all the closets , threw away the non essentials getting ready for my own death in the first days after you died. I didn’t want those whom I would leave to have to deal with my earthly baggage. I felt sure I could not endure this gutting ache , this pain beyond description that crushed me , crippled me for too many days or weeks. Surely my heart would give out, my lungs that fight to breathe between the gasping breaths mingle with choking tears would stop fighting for air.
My brain on fire with questions of why and at the same time dealing with the wickedness of selfishness, thoughtlessness and control
also visited upon us added to the flames . I was sure my very brain would burn out leaving no room for the every day tasks it sent my physical being.
And yet this morning I am still here but don’t ask how? I am better at dealing with the losing of you in public, when needs must . Techniques have been learned . These months and months of torture have taught the body how to endure and survive the hours. The brain has developed an automatic function , to quickly intercede and push down the memory or trigger moment but, that is all it can do. It functions to temporarily hold the Tsunami of grief at bay only for the wave to draw back gather strength and flood your being once more when you are out of the public eye or having to function in the world where time did not stop.
When you died Chris, I died, the Loraine that was is no longer. I look for you in every black Ford 150 that travels on the road. I wake in the morning still hoping this was just one horrendous nightmare. Time stopped , I stopped The me that I am now was born that December day the 3rd – born in grief and lost in sorrow. There is no I in Rest and Peace……
Entry filed under: Chris Ritchey, death, grief, Love, medical, men of substance. Tags: Angela (Lombardi) Ritchey Murphy, Angela Murphy Cleveland Clinic, Angela Murphy Westlake, Angela Ritchey, Christopher D. Ritchey, christopher ritchey lorain, death, Father Daniel Divas Lorain, hodgkins lymphoma, Lombardi-Lorain, Love, mothers and sons, obscenity of cancer, personal day of infamy, Tim and Sue Lombardi Lorain.