Wednesday, September 28, 2011
I have reason over the last couple of weeks to consider the notion of heartache. It's a very strange thing. How can an emotional response to something cause such a physical pain? Sometimes I feel as if something has been wrenched from my gut. The feeling can be overwhelming, and makes it hard to breathe. I want to roar. Then it dies down and I feel almost normal again. For a while. Tears are never far away, I seem to have an endless supply of salty liquid. I need to sob and curl up in a ball. Then I feel positive and strong again. Until the next wave. My chest feels as if it has a tight suit of armour round it and I will never escape. No one has died. This is grief for the end of a way of life, a change in my role and how I define myself. How I have defined myself for the last 23 years. Although many things continue on in the same way, this subtle change threatens to overwhelm me. I watch a friend who is coping with real grief, real bereavement, and I wonder how I will ever deal with that. I try to hide it from my children, because these feelings are caused by one child leaving home to live away at university. I don't need them to feel guilty for growing up and leaving, it's normal. It's the way the world works. I remember how I felt when I spread my own wings, how exciting it was, and how wonderful the world was. I am glad that my son can feel that. So why then do I want to die? Why do I go upstairs and bury my face in his dressing gown which stills smells of him? Why do I get into a breathless panic when I haven't heard from him that day? Why does my body feel as if it is ripped apart?