Rough night last night. Really rough. Grief is a balancing act. If you decide to go through grief with someone by your side, you need to be able to pull them through when you feel like every muscle aches in your body. Grief is a solitary journey by nature, humans share joy and isolate sadness. I was not there when my partner in grief needed me. I became selfish, I let my emotions dictate my reaction to the needs I faced. I cannot bottle up my grief, I cannot put it on a shelf for later. I asked god if I could, if I could set it aside so I could be there for my wife. I tried, and I failed. God said I was not ready, god told me that I love my son too much that I cannot simply hide this. So I must take the hand of my wife and walk through the choking dust of grief together. But I need to be able to hold her up when she trips in the dark, and recognize when she is able to help me to the ground when I need it. I also must find ways to express my grief. Talking about it just does not work. Typing does, writing does. I wrote his angel birthday story and it took up 12 pages. No one is going to read it besides my family someday of course. I will share my grief, distribute it the only way I know how, to not stop talking about it. I cannot hold up a phone conversation and face to face conversations I throw up blocks. Even when I am speaking to the counselor or another grieving parents I look away, I look at empty space, I pretend I am speaking to no one, that my words are not falling on concerned ears, that they fall to earth to rest in the dust never to be heard again. I need to tell people how I feel, what I am going through, how every day feels like a dagger in my soul. My wife told me that her heart is hanging on by a string, all the pieces are falling apart. I wanted to be an extra string, to tie real tight around it, instead I acted as a flame, burning the string, allowing the pieces to come crashing down to earth. I know I am being hard on myself and that really is not the case, but it just helps to write out my feelings.
I asked god to help me through this, I asked god to be there for me, to give me strength that I need to breathe every day. What I need from god is someone to listen to my thoughts, to turn that concerned ear and allow me to speak to him when I need to. And I need to, I need to talk. Marcellus's death opened up a whole new realm of emotions guys spend their entire lives burying under their hobbies and activities. Right now I could give a shit about my hobbies, beer is a long lost friend, brewing is an acquaintance I lost touch with. Video games spark little interest. Even shooting holds no passion in my heart. I have never been much for sports, so now they make me sick. The idea of people being so concerned about a bunch of guys being paid millions of dollars to play a game. I want to play to the game, to play football, to play softball. I do not want to watch grown men play. Tangent, sorry. My emotions have come through in music though, I am still trying to make a playlist to help me through this, I am getting there. I have just rediscovered a live performance Foo Fighters thats acoustic. Listening to Best of You and My Hero with the emotions he sings touches me. My hero is not my father, my hero is my son. He is ordinary, he is the best of me.
I love my son, I miss my son so much. My son represents everything that is good in the world. His death represents all that is tragic and sad but I do not associate him with his death. His death is an event, an action on his life that is just one part of it. It does not represent him. Marcellus is not my son who died. Marcellus is my son, he was here, he taught me how to love, he died, and now he is an angel. It is a mere stone in his path to eternity. Someday when that stone does not weigh my heart down so much I will be able to celebrate my son and let his memory light up my soul. He is my guiding light, he is trying to pull me through this grief, he whispers in my ear and says "daddy, you have to do this, you have to do this for me. Once you get through I can be with you. I can be your right hand man and show you the true glory and joy in life, daddy I love you, I miss you, and I know you miss me. We can be eachothers hero."
He is my hero, my son is my hero.
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