Return to Sender
When I started this Fortunate Cookie project at the beginning of the year, one of my primary motivations for doing so was because I had been feeling lost on a number levels. Though I didn't know what I would find throughout the course of this experiment, I did expect - or hope - to witness a personal change of some sort, or an evolution.
What I didn't expect was that the “me” as I knew it would essentially disappear - not as a result of this particular project per se, but just by chance in the midst of it - and yet that's exactly what has happened this past week, swiftly, and permanently.
Considering the circumstances, I guess this should really come as no surprise. What do you expect when you carve out the core of a person? Without it, there's no power source to feed all the extensions of what I thought made up the rest of "me" - my personality, my drive, my sense of humor, my passion, my will.
There are very few things I've ever been certain of in life, but one thing that became crystal clear to me the second Awesome-O came into my world during the Summer of 2008 was that everything I had done before - good, bad, or otherwise – had been leading up to the most important role I would ever have: becoming his mom, and with that, giving and receiving a type of love I had never known existed, or that I was capable of.
AO with his favorite bear.
I didn't expect it to last forever, but I also wasn't prepared for how very, very brief it would prove to be, or the abrupt, horrifying way in which it would end. As I’m sure many others do during a time of loss, I’ve found myself playing these "at least" games in the midst of this tragedy: "At least we were with him when it happened," and "At least it was fast, so he didn't feel any pain," and "At least he was in his own home, which he loved."
But you know what? The sheer trauma of seeing him die, right before my eyes, the life literally draining from him in just seconds? There is no “at least” in the world that could be applied to that and bring anything that remotely resembles comfort.
Grief seems to bring out the best and worst in people. I have been floored by the kindness of so many, even perfect strangers, yet to be honest, also devastated by the abandonment of certain friends I thought would be the first to step up to the plate. I guess grief just makes some people really uncomfortable, and though this is understandable in some ways, it doesn’t make it any less disappointing.
But I do know that grief is an impossible thing to rush, whether you are experiencing it first hand or witnessing it, and there is also no fix that anyone can provide. Many have tried to to assure me that things will eventually get better, and though I know they have nothing but the best of intentions, the fact of the matter is, it won’t. There’s not going to be a day in the future, immediate or far, where I wake up and suddenly think, “Wow, they were right – this doesn’t feel as bad anymore.”
It’s not because I don’t have enough people lending their love and support – I do. It’s not because I’m not grateful for every ounce of it – I am. And it’s not because that love and support doesn’t matter, or is a waste of anyone’s time – it’s not.
There are just certain events that forever change a person, and this is one of them. I am not the same. The Sarah from before, whatever you knew about her or thought you knew? She doesn’t exist anymore, and I say this, in all sincerity, not to be alarming or melodramatic, but rather to hopefully lessen the shock, especially for those I don’t see on a regular basis. Because when you do see me next, you won’t recognize me. I also know that this is not the Sarah that most signed up for, and I am expecting there will be those who chose to opt out.
Quite frankly, I don’t have any idea what a “new” Sarah will shape up to be, either, or if I will like anything about her. I can’t predict that right now. I am starting from scratch.
I am just an outline.
My fortune last Friday promised of good news coming in the mail, and as with all my other fortunes, I am not sure if that will play out literally, figuratively, both, or neither. Perhaps it’s possible ship someone a new soul, though I have no idea how one would even begin to go about trying to weigh and package such a thing.
I guess right now all I can do is take the bare bones outline that is now serving as “me,” and just try to wait and see.
What I didn't expect was that the “me” as I knew it would essentially disappear - not as a result of this particular project per se, but just by chance in the midst of it - and yet that's exactly what has happened this past week, swiftly, and permanently.
Considering the circumstances, I guess this should really come as no surprise. What do you expect when you carve out the core of a person? Without it, there's no power source to feed all the extensions of what I thought made up the rest of "me" - my personality, my drive, my sense of humor, my passion, my will.
There are very few things I've ever been certain of in life, but one thing that became crystal clear to me the second Awesome-O came into my world during the Summer of 2008 was that everything I had done before - good, bad, or otherwise – had been leading up to the most important role I would ever have: becoming his mom, and with that, giving and receiving a type of love I had never known existed, or that I was capable of.
I didn't expect it to last forever, but I also wasn't prepared for how very, very brief it would prove to be, or the abrupt, horrifying way in which it would end. As I’m sure many others do during a time of loss, I’ve found myself playing these "at least" games in the midst of this tragedy: "At least we were with him when it happened," and "At least it was fast, so he didn't feel any pain," and "At least he was in his own home, which he loved."
But you know what? The sheer trauma of seeing him die, right before my eyes, the life literally draining from him in just seconds? There is no “at least” in the world that could be applied to that and bring anything that remotely resembles comfort.
Grief seems to bring out the best and worst in people. I have been floored by the kindness of so many, even perfect strangers, yet to be honest, also devastated by the abandonment of certain friends I thought would be the first to step up to the plate. I guess grief just makes some people really uncomfortable, and though this is understandable in some ways, it doesn’t make it any less disappointing.
But I do know that grief is an impossible thing to rush, whether you are experiencing it first hand or witnessing it, and there is also no fix that anyone can provide. Many have tried to to assure me that things will eventually get better, and though I know they have nothing but the best of intentions, the fact of the matter is, it won’t. There’s not going to be a day in the future, immediate or far, where I wake up and suddenly think, “Wow, they were right – this doesn’t feel as bad anymore.”
It’s not because I don’t have enough people lending their love and support – I do. It’s not because I’m not grateful for every ounce of it – I am. And it’s not because that love and support doesn’t matter, or is a waste of anyone’s time – it’s not.
There are just certain events that forever change a person, and this is one of them. I am not the same. The Sarah from before, whatever you knew about her or thought you knew? She doesn’t exist anymore, and I say this, in all sincerity, not to be alarming or melodramatic, but rather to hopefully lessen the shock, especially for those I don’t see on a regular basis. Because when you do see me next, you won’t recognize me. I also know that this is not the Sarah that most signed up for, and I am expecting there will be those who chose to opt out.
Quite frankly, I don’t have any idea what a “new” Sarah will shape up to be, either, or if I will like anything about her. I can’t predict that right now. I am starting from scratch.
I am just an outline.
My fortune last Friday promised of good news coming in the mail, and as with all my other fortunes, I am not sure if that will play out literally, figuratively, both, or neither. Perhaps it’s possible ship someone a new soul, though I have no idea how one would even begin to go about trying to weigh and package such a thing.
I guess right now all I can do is take the bare bones outline that is now serving as “me,” and just try to wait and see.
Posted by Sarah Grace McCandless at 1/31/2010 11:54 AM 
Categories: Bad Luck
Tags: Friends Disappointment Hurt Love Awesome-O
Categories: Bad Luck
Tags: Friends Disappointment Hurt Love Awesome-O
Well, I'm sure whoever this new Sarah is, I'm gonna like her. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help her along.
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Do you think the new Sarah will still like Coldplay?
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