Last night I went to a concert. A sweet friend invited me to go see Billy Joel with her. I actually accepted without hesitation. I love Billy Joel, I had seen him twice before, and it’s definitely more mellow than some other concert experiences. I figured maybe if I continue to force myself to get out then one day I will stop just going through the motions and will actually find myself enjoying these experiences.
Surprisingly to me I did not waffle with this decision in the days leading to the concert. I thought I would experience the panic and terror that I typically experience when I need to go anywhere. And this wasn’t just anywhere. This was a packed stadium filled with noise and activity and people, many of whom I would know, with no escape.
I’m not sure I can describe how I felt at the concert. It was a good show but I certainly didn’t get into it like I would have in my previous life. I wasn’t distracted from life. Not at all. In fact it brought back memories of the couple of concerts to which I took Ariella and made me think about all the concerts she will never get to attend. I was trying to imagine whether or not she would have liked it, would have enjoyed the music. There were a good number of children there. But it was mostly an adult crowd for which I was grateful. But this is the thing about grief. It really does invade every single aspect of your life. Whereas before I would go to a 3 hour concert and not have my main focus be on my child, now she’s all I think about wherever I go, whatever I’m doing. There is no distraction.
That all said, I am glad I went. Even though I spent much of the show thinking about Ariella, it still felt like a bit of an escape. I can’t adequately describe the experience. I’m actually not exactly sure how I feel about it to be honest. I think I was able to do it because it is unlikely that a Billy Joel concert would ever have been an experience that I shared with Ariella. And music. Music has a way of helping even though it can tug at the emotions. I’m not sure I can say I had fun. Maybe it was fun. I wasn’t wishing I was at home instead so that’s something. And it was entertaining. I’ll take that.
Today, however, I’m exhausted. I think I’ve been trying to do too much in an effort to get out of my own head. Going out, doing anything is exhausting. I’m fortunate that I don’t have to pretend to be okay with my friends, but the interactions are still tiring. I have a hard time participating in conversations in a meaningful way. I’m sad and I don’t want to be a downer (even know I know they don’t care). Interacting with strangers or acquaintances is even more tiring. Because I generally don’t try to fake it I know I must come across as unfriendly and miserable. It’s easier just to stay at home and not have to interact with anyone. I’m trying to find that balance because staying at home staring at the TV doesn’t do me any good either. But I think I need a few days of that. There is no escaping your grief. Wherever you go it follows you like a shadow, threatening to tear you down, bring you to your knees without warning. It’s okay if that happens at home. It’s terrifying when it happens in public.
I don’t think I have become any more adept at navigating grief but I am learning that while nothing really serves as a distraction, there have been activities that have been therapeutic. Writing of course is probably number one. Running/exercising is probably the activity that comes closest to actually being able to distract me from my emotional pain. The pain doesn’t stay away of course but the endorphins that are released with physical activity must help. Music as I have mentioned certainly has a therapeutic role and the other day I did some pottery painting which was also quite therapeutic. Brief moments of time where I can focus on something not instead of the pain but in addition to the pain.
Despite finding those brief moments where I feel almost okay, I still just don’t see the purpose or meaning of living anymore. Ariella was my purpose, my reason for being. Taking care of her was my most important job. There is nothing else that can give my life that same meaning. I don’t have someone else that needs me like she did, that needs caring for. That I can love and raise. I force myself to keep going because that’s what she did in the most impossible of circumstances. But I don’t want to. Parents who have been in this position assure the newly bereaved that we will learn to live again. But that only makes me more sad.
🎹❤️🙏🌈