Exhausting the time to grieve???

Okay, so this may not be the appropriate sequence to write this post on the heels of the previous one, but this has been rattling around in my head for so long that I need to get it out.


For those of you who have had some major grief happen in your life - have you ever felt that your friends (who you believed whole heartedly were indeed your friend in every meaning of the word) finally got sick of you and wanted you to just be 'over it?' That somehow you'd exhausted your allotted time to grieve - and it was time to just pick up and move on?


I realize it is a natural process...grieving, that is... for all involved. At first there is that panic, that feeling of losing control, followed closely by 'oh $hit - now what am I supposed to do?' There is that surreal feeling of 'did I really just go through that?' (i.e. - did I really just watch my dad take his last breath and see his heart literally stop beating? or - am I really looking at my mom - this person lying before me in a hospital bed - hooked up to 14 different machines - and looking like something from a horror flick with the open and non-bandaged scar from having her head cut open and her brain fiddled around with? or - am I really witnessing a life - this precious baby we prayed for and loved - leaving my body? Surely these things aren't real....)


Friends seem to flock to your side in droves, bringing everything from casseroles to flowers, phone calls and emails... and then time goes on, life happens, and people move on.


Naturally that should happen - I mean, I wouldn't want to wallow forever - and I wouldn't want or expect my friends to let me do that. But just when you're starting to pick yourself off, shake off the dust, rattle yourself around - another blow happens, and you're right back where you started.


But your friends don't get that. They expect you to have that smile on your face, be 'good ole reliable Kristen' and go about your life as it was pre-disaster.


And the thing is - its always there. It never really goes away.


I recently (on the anniversary of my moms surgery) emailed out to a group of friends that on that day, I needed support. Now one thing you must know about me is that I'm not one to ever ask for help. Ever. I don't admit when I'm sad or scared or hurting - rather I do an awesome job of stuffing it deep inside for those times when I'm alone and can completely dissolve. I'd rather do that than admit I'm hurting. I'd rather have a fake smile on my face than try to explain why I'm sad. So to email out and ask for any help, was beyond unusual. I think in the email I said something along the lines of 'I don't admit when I'm troubled or weak - but today I need your prayers.' Wanna know how many replies I received - from people who are supposed to be my true 'friends?' Very few. Very.


In fact, the people I expected to be sympathetic and understanding and type a quick note of 'I'm thinking of you today' were silent. Deafeningly silent.


Not to say there weren't others who offered prayers, support, a simple and sincere 'I'm so very sorry," and those meant the world to me.


But there were still those people, the people I thought I could depend on - who apparently have no idea what it is like to walk any sort of path of grief. And you know what? I hope they never do.


There are some days that I feel like I'm in some sort of no-mans-land - because none of my friends have lost a parent. None of my friends have lost a baby. In their defense I think they just don't know what to say - and perhaps in their minds its better not to say anything at all - and just ignore it. But doing so makes it seem like the grief isn't true - that I'm crazy or insane or both for being sad about the fact that my dad is dead and my mom (while alive) is incapacitated.

So maybe I've exhausted my time for grieving - I just wish I could somehow explain that fact to my heart.

Does any of this make sense, or am I truly crazy?