I am sitting on my couch looking at what seems like a mess on my ottoman. It isn’t really a mess, exactly. It’s just unfinished. A couple months ago, a dear friend invited me to a very special event for bereaved mothers – we were making memory boxes together. It felt so good to be doing something creative again. I painted the top and it turned out better than I expected. I brought it home 90% done. I decided it needed some lace around the sides of the box, bought the lace and started to trim it. And then I just stopped.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. But day by day, I found myself unwilling to cut and attach the lace. Excuses started happening. I’m too tired. My head hurts. The light isn’t good tonight. I really want to watch this show. The box sits between me and the TV so I see it everyday. I haven’t forgotten; I can’t forget. But yet it sits unfinished.
I have realized over the last couple of weeks how much of my grief is also unfinished. I know that we grieve as long as we love, so our grief is never truly finished. But my short temper, inability to deal with stress, and even depression lately show me just how far from finished my grief is at this point. I have not forgotten my grief; I can’t forget it. But it sits, neglected and unfinished.
In bottling my expressions of grief, I also stifle positive outlets of expression. I can’t be creative while I harden my heart trying not to feel anything. I used to make beaded jewelry and crochet. Now, the most creative I get is to pin other people’s project ideas for jewelry that I have no real intention of ever making. I just can’t make myself take the first step of pulling out my beads to let the colors speak to me and ideas form.
To unlock the creativity, I have to unlock my heart to all the emotions lurking within. I don’t really want to, if I am honest. But I know it needs to be done. I wasn’t meant to live with my heart in a stranglehold to keep myself from experiencing my emotions. I deserve better.
My family is forever unfinished. But accepting this reality in my head is so much easier than accepting it in my heart. My heart still longs for the happy ending, or even better, to just to wake up to find these last five or ten years were a dream so I can have a do-over. But I don’t live in a television show. I can’t write away parts of my life as just a bad dream, or twitch my nose to re-arrange my world.
So I exist feeling unfinished. I become a mother with each baby conceived and lost but my heart feels unfinished since I will never be Mom. I won’t be the one comforting, teaching, or even cleaning my children’s messes. So maybe subconsciously, I act out my feelings by not completing the memory box. But leaving the box sitting there in that condition isn’t healthy for me. I will finish the box this weekend. I know the doing of it will make me sad. But it’s time to start facing my grief again.
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