Monday, April 23, 2012

This... Sucks

Yesterday, I was doing okay until I staggered into a whole field of "grief landmines".  More like I'd been dropped into the middle of the field with a ill-made map.

It all started with the rocking chair in Elliot's room.  Made of solid wood by gnomes in upstate Vermont (or handcrafted in a factory... I forget which), it's a beautiful piece of furniture, one which Aimee and I agonized over for hours and several stops at furniture stores before Owen was born. We talked about sitting in it on the porch when we were old and grey... and eventually passing it on to our kids.

That's the part that stuck in my chest: "old and grey." Aimee and I had a lot of plans for being old and grey together--she made me promise to stroke her hair when she was an old lady.

I've been robbed of the chance to fulfill my promise.

And that sucks. Hard.

Friends and family keep asking me how I'm doing. Okay. Awful. Okay again. It comes and goes.

I'm scared.


Lonely in a crowd.

And scared some more.

But I'm not ashamed of sharing. Aimee never was--I valued her honesty as much as any other piece of her, and I'm not about to dishonor her memory by clamming up.

Write hard?

Yes. And live hard, too.


Sarah Hardee said...

Well Mr. Polson, whenever I see you have a new blog post, I race to read it. I somewhat understand the 'Okay. Awful. Okay.'... but not to the relationship degree of spouse. Thanks for writing, you encourage me to not take my life for granted.

Mary Rajotte said...

Honestly, I don't even know how you are forming complete sentences right now, Aaron.

We've all lost someone (myself included) and although it may not be the same, we understand those waves of good and bad. Sometimes over days, sometimes in the span of a few minutes. Feel free to lean on us. We're all here for you!

And like Sarah said, it's nice seeing your blog posts just to know how you are doing.


Aaron Polson said...

Sarah - Enjoy as much as you can, live with the rest. ;)

Mary - Thanks. I'm taking baby steps. Baby steps.

Mark K said...


It's is never easy living the life without a loved one. My father passed away back in '93 and it still catches me at the oddest times for the daftest of reasons--it could be months apart, or even years, but you get little reminders that they are still with you. Prepare for that, embrace it but continue to live.

Grief is a very individual and personal thing. It has a way of trickling out and you aren't aware. Again, it's a case of allowing it to takes its course. Like a river, if you block it up, it will find another route and continue on--same with grief.

You know that we, the blogites of the blogoverse are here to lend support if need be--never feel ashamed to ask anyone. It's true what they say: no man is an island. I learnt that one the hard way.

Your life feels empty and crushed, and all the reminders speak to you, some might even taunt. Talk to those which talk to you, and put an end to those which taunt you. I firmly believe that we all get to meet up again sooner or later, be it in the afterlife or in the next life.

Our lives are like stories and some have yet to reach their conclusion. Those we hold dear and love are intrinsic to that story, we need them to complete it, bring it to its final--and right--ending. So we will always find them as they will find us, and once again the story will continue to write itself as it was meant to be. Maybe not in this life, but it will be written as it was meant to be.

Take care, my friend,


Elizabeth Twist said...

I too appreciate seeing your new posts come up. If you're getting anything out of writing through this, keep doing it.

Elizabeth Twist

Sara Ziegler said...

Land mines are the best descriptor of what it feels like. I wish I could take the land mines away for you, the boys, and my parents, maybe even being selfish I wish I could take them from myself. I'm scared though, if I really took the land mines away, would I be taking away another piece of Aimee? I don't want the land mines but on some level I don't want them to go away either. Maybe at some point the mines just turn into wonderful memories until then hold on and know we are all here.

Erin Cole said...

Sorry about your troubles.

I suffered a big tragedy in my family not too long ago, timing was horrible, Christmas, my sister's husband left our house that day the storm hit, his three kids bringing their dad home on Christmas Eve in a box - oh life!

Yes, it does suck, really hard sometimes.

I hate hearing about anyone that has to live through it. But it will make you strong, and your family. May not feel like it, but you're a heck of a lot stronger than any of us are right now.

Michael Stone said...

Oh dear God, mate. I'm just catching up with your blog and...words, there are none.

Things like this shouldn't happen.

Be strong for your boys, Aaron, and they in turn will be there for you.

I'm thinking of you.

Aaron Polson said...

Thanks, Michael. Things like this shouldn't happen. Truer words were never written (on this blog, at least).

Take care.

Cathy Olliffe-Webster said...

Ah Aaron. Wish I could hug ya.