Grief Journal: February 11

I can’t even begin to describe the way I feel.

Sometimes I’m in good spirits.

Sometimes I’m raging.

Most days I physically feel broken... I can’t swallow, my stomach hurts, I feel like I weigh a thousand pounds.  I feel wrong.  And wronged.

But then, even a few days later, I can be just fine.  Laughing, buying Apple products, drinking iced tea, watching a movie with Dan.

I feel like I have a split personality.  Even though on the one hand I feel so close to Vincent, (as if he was literally a part of me!)  I can go for the entire day purposely not thinking about him.  Because actually remembering him, allowing myself to think about him and our life together, watching his videos and looking at his toys makes me feel crazy.  Now I know I need to let myself feel, even if the ensuing emotions are extremely painful, but I just don't have the energy for it.  Grieving is a lot of work.  So instead of really remembering and thinking about Vincent, when the crushing feelings build, I simply say his name, groan out his name. "Vincent. I. Miss. You."  

I’m very careful when doing this to NOT actually remember him, not to summon up his face, his grin, our devastation at his diagnosis, the hope of his possible recovery, the memories of his drawn-out death. I’m not thinking about any of this.  I’m just saying his name out loud.

But if I were to sit down and remember Vincent nursing, laughing at me, reading his books, playing with his brother Theo, watching baby einstein, then I would be inconsolable.  So all I can say is his name.  Vincent.  

Don't get me wrong, I WANT to remember Vincent exactly the way he was.  I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to immediately conjure up his smile and his face from memory, I’m scared that I’ll lose track of how old he'll be turning each year.  I’m afraid that if I follow my self-preservationist instincts I’ll do myself the even greater disservice of forgetting exactly what Vincent was like, forgetting many memories of our time together.  Not because I don’t want to remember him, but because it’s simply too painful to do.