Shortly after Reece passed away, I had this deep desire to go rock climbing. I’m talking about the kind of rock climbing where you need ropes and spiked shoes and you basically hang off the side of a cliff. This goes against just about everything that feels natural and normal to me. I’m pretty risk averse and camping for me includes our backyard and the ability to go lay down in my own bed after everyone else has nodded off…I don’t like waking up in dew. This rock climbing idea was borne out of a need to have a larger-than-life sensory experience; to feel alive when many things inside of me did not. I also did not feel nearly as concerned for my safety. I wasn’t reckless, I just wasn’t as worried about the “what ifs” in my daily functioning. As life began to pull itself back together, my desire to hang off of rocks still remained, but it didn’t seem as important. There were other ways I found to feel alive again.
Strangely, I have always told Terry that if he goes to Heaven before me, I know I will feel great peace about the two of them being together. I have never thought Reece needed one of us to be there. But there is something about knowing that one of his earthly parents is there with him again that gives me some sort of resolution about the transplant here. I don’t know how else to say it. I can honestly say that I was right, though–I do feel strangely at peace. It is so right and so odd all at once.
I have spent some time reading through my posts on Like Olive Shoots and have found myself sick and tired of it. Not of Reece or Terry, but of the situation. I don’t want to read about it, wallow in it, or live in that any more. After Reece passed away I felt this need to preserve him. As time went on, I began to understand that Reece was separate from all sorts of emotions I had about his transplant and passing. In the process of understanding this, I have been able to appreciate my relationship with him. I certainly don’t mean to minimize his struggle with BMT or how incredibly strong he was during that time. But I recognize that my relationship continues with him and I celebrate the memories I have and the future I look forward to with him again one day. I already feel this way about Terry. I’m already so sick and tired of the whole situation. I don’t feel any need to prove anything to myself about him or our relationship. But I’m tired of the garbage of this world and how it impacted our lives. I’m just done with that. I’ll figure out what to do in the wake that was left behind from his passing and then I’ll look forward to seeing him again one day. But in the middle–the rest of my life here–I need to move forward. It’s not unhealthy or too soon. It is what it is. I’ve been through a lot and I’ve seen a lot. I need normal, dammit. I’m going to find it again. It won’t be what normal used to be and that is fine with me. I’m not looking to go back to anything that was there; that’s not even a desire buried in my heart.
I did have the notion a couple of weeks ago that I would like to go skydiving. Ok, let’s be honest–it’s probably not going to happen. I’ll never say never about it. However, I’ve realized that I again have a deep need to feel alive again. This time I recognize I need to reclaim my life. It will happen, but it won’t be as quickly as I would like. I’ve had so many discussions with people who have said, “I just want to fix this for you.” I can tell you truthfully, no one wants to fix this more than me. There is no fixing the loss of Terry, but there is a way to repair the other things that are left behind. I’ve been through enough life and grief to know myself in the midst of them. Many people have told me to just slow down and take some time for myself. Trust me, taking time for myself doesn’t include sitting around. I am not a crazy person, despite living through very difficult circumstances. (Or maybe I should say I am no crazier than I have ever been at any other point in my life.) I’m not shuffling around in a bath robe or hiding out in my house. Truly, I’m a pretty typical person, just trying to live life.