I Want a New Story
My Grief Journey

I Want a New Story

January 28, 2016

Today I find myself wanting a new story. I want to step outside of my life and shed the skin that I’ve identified with for the past eight years: grieving mother. I want to fly away from it and not look back.

I am grateful for it and it’s made me into the person I am, but I do not want to be defined by it. I am more than that. I am more capable than that title allows. I experience more joy than that title allows.

I am open. I am happy. I am kind. I am enthusiastic. I am hopeful. I am incredibly fun and energetic.

And yet there are times I think I shouldn’t be. I am a grieving mother. Surely I must drag my grief everywhere and live in fear because I know that bad things really do happen. And that you cannot truly ever unring that bell. And control? Hahaha, we have none.

And control? Hahaha, we have none.

And yet, I find myself tired of my story. I want a new story, one of passion pursued. Not one of loss overcome or lived through, of hardship endured or of fear felt and pushed through. But that is all there is, ever. Life is always changing and we learn our best lessons through hardship, be it hard work, loss, illness, abuse, divorce. It is life after all. Show up and participate, or don’t. Life is going to continue and it will change regardless of what we do. Hopefully, we’ll do something with the time we have.

I need a new story. And yet, when I hear stories of sick children dying, I still end up running from the room to ball my face off in the bathroom. Is that having a new story? What delusion am I having?

Why want to walk away? What am I running from? Using my story for good – something I have longed for?

Is it like staring your dream in the face and then turning away because you’re scared of the doors the dream will open, being afraid to walk through?

I have a hard time with “my story” and that people find it inspiring. Is it because I am a poor receiver? How do I let that go?

But I made him a promise when I said good-bye, “I will not let this defeat me and I will make you proud.”

This promise forced me to keep going. To get up in the morning and go to work when I just wanted to curl in a ball and cry.

So here I am with my story, it’s a part of me I cannot change, but learn to live with. What meaning shall I give it?

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