All Alone

It had just dawned on me that I may be leaving my daughter.  Estranged from every one, I felt that even this tiny innocent person I brought into the world saw her mother slowly disappearing.

Why was I being whisked away so suddenly from the life that was just taking shape?  No sense came from questioning this path of injustice.  No peace felt from unacceptance of this tragedy.  No anger arose from the deep sadness of my possible demise.  God had a plan for me, but I wished I could see what it was.

Was I denying my innermost fears or was I simply trying to cope?  Is strength giving me the motivation to forge through?  Are we wired to unburden the psychological impact of a crisis, or will the trauma manifest itself in uncontrollable ways later on?

 

My husband didn’t say a word.  He stood close to me, but I don’t remember a touch, maybe just his hand to mine.  It wasn’t easy for him to be the comforting person in such a poignant moment.

Mariano is by no means a big talker, especially when it comes to sharing emotions.  Since this memoir is all about honesty, I must admit that he’s not the first person I’d run to for support.  I’m not condoning such behavior, nor am I excusing it, it’s just the way he is.

We must do whatever we can to help those we love, right – even if it makes us uncomfortable, even if all we want is the freedom to cry.  This experience has taught me that we all need emotional support, including myself.

 

When you think you’re not strong enough to help someone through a tragedy, remember that all you need to do is be there, even if it means you can’t hold back your tears.  That in itself will bring you closer and show your love and support to the one that needs it.  Be well.

Patricia

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