The Aftermath

We have been home from the hospital for two days; this is our third night of everyone sleeping in their own beds. I would like to say Jeremy's head is better, but looking at it all I see is a mass; I have no medical degree and therefore no way to evaluate if it's better or worse. I don't know if it hurts him because he won't say. He doesn't like to take any medication orally, so that's been a twice-daily fight. The combination of these things has been chipping away at the happiness of being home. I feel like I know no more than I did when we drove away from Good Shepherd on Saturday. I continue to feel guilty about having neglected Bekah so much last week. I am sleep-deprived and despondent. I can't remember anyone's names and am still impatient with my children.

I feel like I am in the middle of a vast ocean, wearing expectations like a bulky sweater. I am trying desperately to tread water, but the weight of my expectations keeps me from being able to catch my breath. It is exhausting both mentally and physically, trying to continue with my daily household and family duties and also make sure my head is above water. I feel bad that I can't be at rest; that the Sisyphus-ian task of doing laundry and cleaning and straightening keeps peacefulness and serenity just out of my reach. I have been at a loss as to how to deal with my son. We all sleep in our own beds in our house, but I have heard him cry out over the past few nights. I can't decide if I should get him and suffer through a bad night's sleep or leave him, wrap myself up in the heavy blanket of guilt I keep at the foot of my bed and try to get rest myself.

I am overheated more and I think that's hormones, but it's uncomfortable and cloying. I am craving something sweet but don't know what that is. I feel disconnected from humanity because we continue to be on isolation. I am not sure when Jeremy's wound will heal and that's frustrating. He wants to go play with his friends, to go to "Burger Plain" (Burger King), to be outside. I keep trying to tell him we can't because he doesn't feel well, but I've said it so much lately it is starting to sound like I'm just giving him the brush-off. I know I should go out, meet someone for coffee and just cry or ask them or how doing. These are things that would help me shake this icky feeling, but the more I stay inside, the more I don't want to leave. I am writing because I don't want to and that feels like a small step in the right direction.

Brian is coping by throwing himself into the sea of information about Japan. He tells me it keeps him distracted from our own troubles. My dad told me today about a clients' family and it reminded me to be grateful. The truth is, though, that even though I know things could be worse, I only am living in my experience. I only know the quiet desperation of not even being able to go to the bathroom by myself. These small things seem trivial and I know that, but they are the things that exasperate me more than any others. I am tired of people telling me that someday I will miss not having my kids around. I am sure that's the case, but it doesn't mean it's not okay for me to hate having to travel around the house with an entourage.

It's 8 PM and all I want to do is go to bed and sleep until morning, but that won't happen. I will be up around 2 AM, hungry and disoriented and overheated. I just want the opportunity to be away from these feelings for a while, but the swirl in my brain seeps into my dreams. Sleep isn't a respite when I dream about the things that keep me awake. I have watched only a little of the coverage of Japan's disaster. I feel sad when I know that there are so many loved ones that will simply never be found. I can relate to the survivors, walking through the wreckage of their former towns. The look in their eyes is familiar to me; it is shock, fear and disorientation. I know the look because that's what I see when I am brushing my teeth. I know the look because that's how I have wandered around my house; lost and confused, unsure of where to start to clean up and unable to complete tasks from start to finish. Sometimes, the aftermath is even more devastating than the disaster.

I wonder what I'll write about next....