This is post from March 26, 2010
I’ve been going back to find myself, to ground this experience, to find a way to mark the growth, the good changes and all the challenges I have overcome.
I’m been going back to find courage. 
This is what the post said.
——-
“He’s in our thoughts and prayers.”

“We are sending a blanket of love.”

Those are words I read today about a boy, who like Art is

battling his second round of cancer.

He’s doing a better job than Art did

and I’m NOT doing a better job at begin gracious.

Instead, when I read those words of love

And support

Ms. Cynic thinks

“Save your breath!”

“Those good thoughts and prayers

Don’t work.

If they did,

I wouldn’t be writing this column.”

Silly, stupid, people.

——-

That boy died earlier this morning on Friday, March 26.

The grief sucked me down its whirlpool, shame followed

And anger was fast on its heels.

Only this time, I bobbed to the surface

Before I got too much water up my nose.

The whirlpool didn’t take me down as far and I am not as disoriented.

I cry because I know where his mom will go.

I know the journey of loss

and the idea of someone I know walking it

Makes me scream myself raw

and punch trees

and crumble to the floor and say

“Why her? Why her?”

Brooks….I’m sorry.

I wanted those silly, stupid people to be right.

I really wish they had been right.

—–

I re-read these words and at first, I feel shame

and then oddly

it is followed by forgiveness.

 

In the wake of the last few months

I have learned to forgive myself.

 

To forgive myself for:

not calling his doctor sooner,

for not convincing him to try alternative treatments

for not singing to him the moment he died

for not being too tired on Saturday to visit him so I could have alerted the doctors sooner

for not waiting to hold the memorial service so our friends from across the country could attend

for not kissing him on the lips after he died

for not staying in bed for days and days and days like I really think I should have

for not playing the widow part good enough

for not being more loving to him when he was around the last few months

for not being kinder to stupid people

for trying so hard to please all those around because somehow I felt their attention was unworthy

for it all

for crying too much or not crying enough

for my anger

for….

 

the list goes on.

 

In his death, I found my humanity and my imperfections.

In his death, I have discovered that it’s not my fault.

In his death, I have discovered myself.