People truly are good and amazing. I have had people who have never met me in person come from hundreds of miles to comfort me, send me messages, send me gifts, anything they can do to help me “through” what I am experiencing. People don’t want me to be stuck and they’re doing everything humanly possible to help me keep moving forward.
In the last couple of days, two friends have reached out to me because they are concerned about me. They think I’m stuck. One had her daughter pass away 13 years ago, at the same age Shayna was when she transitioned. I’ve known her for a couple of years via Facebook. The other I only met in the last couple of weeks. She is a professional psychotherapist. Both reached out to me privately to encourage me and to tell me they are concerned that I am stuck. So, this is something I need to think about. If I’m sending that signal out, if two people are perceiving the same thing, I can’t just dismiss it. Am I stuck? I have to consider the possibility.
Admittedly, I am not in a good place. It would be fair to say I am depressed. It would be fair to say I am struggling. It would be fair to say I’m not living my “best life” right now. The day after they reached out to me, a memory came up on Facebook. It was a picture of a rainbow I took as the woman who initially helped Tywana and me with counseling was leaving the house. I remember the day. I remember stepping outside with her and taking my phone out to snap the photo. At that time I could not see living another few days or weeks or months, let alone another 12 months. Yet, here I am, 12 months later, still here, still relatively sane and looking back at that moment and realizing 12 months ain’t all that long.
The day my friends reached out to me, I had walked five miles that morning, another two miles to cut the grass. I get up between 6:30 and 7:00 AM even though I don’t have anyone to report to. I had worked a full day. I did a ½ hour meditation. Since Shayna passed Tywana and I have started a group to help other parents heal. I study every single day something about the afterlife, usually totaling an hour to an hour and a half. Immediately after Shayna passed, the doctor prescribed Ativan for me, which I took a couple of times. I’m not on any medication for depression/anxiety right now and I’m functioning. All in all, I’d say I’m doing as well as I could hope to. I’m doing much better than I expected to.
Stuck is not a word I would use to characterize where I am. Again, I am not in a good place. But, if I picture it as a climb out of a valley, it’s a long, long climb. I had a long way to go. I think I’ve made some progress. There is still a long, long way to go.
I just read an article about the seven things someone discovered after having a child transition. I could agree with six of those things, which I won’t elaborate on here. But, the last one was she said she could know unspeakable joy because she had known deep sorrow. Bullshit. Not for me. There will be unspeakable joy again. I’ve known it before. It won’t be here on this plane. Every joy now is covered by a bit of a shadow. Every joy I wish I could share with Shayna. The only unspeakable joy I feel is when I realize this world is only temporary and that one day I’ll remember why I signed up for this trip. Meanwhile, while I am here my goal is to do the most good I can for the most people I can and keep my eyes focused on that day when it all makes sense and it’s all over.
