For some reason I'm running into people who want me to be done grieving I know my grief is not convenient for YOU, but my grief is not for YOU, my grief is for Bram.
In less than a week we reach the 3 month mark. Three months without my son. If you have children and they are all alive, you don't understand. If you don't have children then you're completely out of the realm of comprehension. Not because you don't want to, but simply because you can't.
I'm going to dwell. I'm going to be a mess. I'm going to rage, and cry. I'm going to hole up in the house, where I'm safe. Respect where I'm at. Respect that I'm not going to move on from this, and as I move forward it's not going to move fast.
Don't give me a guilt trip. Don't shame me. Don't try to manipulate me.
Leaving my house means flash backs, flash backs of my perfect boy's face ripped off of his skull, his tissues RIPPED from his bones. Flash backs of his blood rolling across the pavement. Flash backs of his pulse fading. Flash backs of confusion and horror pouring out from T and K's faces. Flash backs of their innocence crushed while they watched their brother die. Flash backs of paramedic telling me "no he doesn't have a heartbeat." Flash backs of the doctor and nurse walking to me, and the look on their face. Flash backs of those words "skull fractures...it's too much." Flash backs of walking in his room, and seeing him, CPR, tubes, machines, yelling, the palpable effort to make him live and his body being unable to fight, to heal. Flash backs of the horror that rippled across everyone's face as I had to tell them he's dead. Flash backs of his body turned to stone so we could hold him again. Flash backs of our last good bye as they transferred him into the cremation machine. So no, I can't leave my house today, I can't handle the flash backs. I can't handle the most horrific movie you could ever imagine being replayed involuntarily in my head.
So I can't be the friend you want. I'll likely flake out and cancel plans last minute. I'm not going to apologize, because in doing so you're asking that I apologize for loving my son. As uncomfortable as it makes you grief is a facet of love, it cannot exist without love, and to feel it so deeply it knocks me to the ground and changes my world means I have known love greater than most.
3 months and you want me back to normal. Normal doesn't exist. You wouldn't hold this expectation to someone who had been in a coma for 3 months, or had a heart transplant, or lost all their limbs. For all intents and purposes pretend I've done all 3. Stop expecting normal. I haven't found mine yet.