Today is a rough one for me. I am a morning person. Mondays don’t particularly bother me. The fresh start of a new day has always excited me. The solitude of getting up early invigorates me. Monday, what can I can accomplish this week?
Today is an exception, like last Monday was. Mornings are no longer a fresh start full of promise. Morning means another day without my Shayna. Monday is the start to trying to make a living in a world I no longer want to be a part of. I sometimes take the weekend off of my T25 program and even when I don’t Sunday is a stretch day, so Monday is when I’m back at it. I often don’t want to push “Play” to get started, but today it’s particularly hard. Why should I work to maintain this body that is no more than prison cell for me now?
Many people fear ghosts. Ghosts are disembodied spirits that are confused. They’re dead. They’re lost. They don’t know where they belong. We’re alive. We have purpose. We are in the land of the living, the place to be. Well, we’re wrong. We’re the ones who are confused. We are spirits living in a material world. We have forgotten who we are. We have forgotten why we came here. We are disconnected from our source. We are disconnected from each other. We are the ones who are lost and trying to find our way home. I see this now and everything in me aches to go home. This body is my prison cell. My fellow prisoners are locked in their cells. And we’re all in this giant prison where most of us can’t even see over the wall. I can see over the wall now and I’m ready to get out.
Today is our first meeting with one a grief counselor. She comes to the house. She is great. I spoke with her on the phone for 25 minutes before. It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. She’s comfortable talking about what we need to talk about. She’s gentle with us, letting us vent. She has had an NDE. She believes our loved ones are still with us. This is helping. She won’t think I’m nuts when I tell her the stuff I believe. She tells us how much she admires our family. My chest swells with pride. If you want to pay me a compliment, compliment my family, my girls. But, my family has been ripped in two I tell her. The thing I live for is split between two worlds. She tells me what others have told me, we need to build a spirit relationship with Shayna now. Yeah, I know but it still sucks! I get through this pretty well talking about all of this stuff, but it’s the little things that cause me to break down. She asks about Shayna’s room- that’s where she crossed over. She tells us a story of a woman who said she could not go to the basement again because that is where her husband died and she thought of it as a bad place. Sheila told her that God had said that is where He took her husband by the hand and led him to heaven. Wonderful imagery. We have no problems going into Shayna’s room. It’s a happy place. I remember painting the walls for her. I remember having Kayla put her handprint just under the light switch. Shayna had just redecorated her room and it’s gorgeous now. She and I built every piece of Ikea furniture together. Shayna was my little engineer, my analytical one. Great with her hands. Going into her room brings back happy memories, but talking about it brings the tears. I tell Sheila I’m scared I’m going to forget her. I’ll never hear her ringtone again. Hearing from Ty and Kayla is always great, but Shayna still had that little girl voice and called me “Daddy”. When she would call, my heart would quicken because I knew the next words I would hear in that sweet voice were “Hey Daddy”. Will I forget her voice?
The counselor tells us we’re doing all of the right things. She’s amazed at where we are not even three weeks into the journey. It’s reassuring to hear that, but at the same time, I know that I am not “all right”. Far from it. I guess I’m where I’m supposed to be, but I don’t like it- not at all.
Sleep comes easy for me these days. We’re talking with the counselor and I find out Ty dreads bedtime. At night, when she puts down the book and closes her eyes, that’s when her thoughts turn to the pain. For me it’s the opposite. Bedtime is the time to let it go, to escape this nightmare and fall into blissful nothingness.
I wake during the night. I’m tired. Not sleepy. Just tired. Tired of this journey. Tired of having to deal with bad thoughts. Tired of trying to be strong. Tired of putting one foot in front of another. Fuck it! Fuck it!! FUCK IT!!! I say to myself as I stumble into the bathroom. Why do I have to keep doing this? I just don’t want to any more.
I grab Ty and hold her and I’m reminded of why I have to keep doing this. My fellow prisoners still need me here.
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