EMPTY ARMS, BROKEN HEART

When you have lost a loved one, there is nothing that can fill that empty place in your heart. When the departure is sudden and tragic, the impact is horrific. Death by suicide is impossible to totally come to terms with. Knowing that someone you love dearly has chosen to leave you and die by their own hand is devastating; and when that someone is your precious child, words are inadequate to describe the depth of the pain. That empty place inside feels as though it is sucking the very life out of you. I don't mean in any way to minimize the loss of a loved one by other causes. Nothing ever prepares one for the loss of a loved one. Even when the loss is expected. There is nothing that ever could and nothing that ever will.

Somewhere in the midst of all that pain, sorrow, and confusion your arms begin to feel overwhelmingly empty. I cannot explain what it feels like to walk about with a big, vacant hole in the center of your soul and the emptiness your arms feel when they can no longer hold the one you so desperately need to hold just one more time. You breath in and all the air seems to escape through that hole. And all the warmth. I can only say that it feels somewhat like trying to live inside a empty, cold shell.

We may be surrounded by caring, loving people but still we are alone in our cold, empty existence. I am not one to verbalize my feelings. For me, writing about it and not having to interact or explain or relive it vocally is much easier and I suppose another way I isolate. I'd rather put up walls and pretend everything is fine. I keep my feelings buried pretty deeply.

My sister, Debbie, knows this about me and would say "it's okay to cry". But still when in the presence of others, I don't. She wanted desperately to help me. One day while both of us were visiting our Mother in Nevada, she said to me "You need something to wrap your arms around, something to hold on to when you are alone and lonely and hurting."

The next day the three of us went shopping. We weren't shopping for anything in particular. It was just an afternoon outing. Deb and I came upon a display of Dr. Seuss stuffed animals. I love the oddity of his characters and the creativity and rhyme of his stories. I am a big, big fan BUT I am not a big fan of stuffed animals. I like stuffed animals for children and I think it's really sweet when an older person still sleeps with a treasure from childhood. It just isn't me.

When my sister suggested that I select one of the characters for myself and she would purchase it as a gift for me, I was uncomfortable with the thought But since she said that it had helped her get pass a difficult time in her own life and had been suggested to her by a counselor, I decided that maybe I could at least try. I selected "the Lorax". Mostly because he had arms that I could wrap around my neck, a soft chest I could press my face into, and sad eyes I could relate to. So "the Lorax" was purchased and taken home.

The story might have ended there. After all I'm far too old for the comfort of a stuffed animal but the story did not end there. This is what happened: That night I got into my nightgown, fluffed my pillows, snuggled down beneath the crisp, clean sheets and under the soft, warm blankets, and turned off the light. The moonlight reflected on the Lorax which was sitting next to me on the bed and leaning against the wall. Reluctantly I picked him up, put his little arms around my neck, and settle my cheek into his little body. I hadn't noticed that I was holding my breath but as I pulled him close I began to relax and breath. It was so comforting to hold this soft, yellow creature close to me. Amazingly he did fulfill that need to wrap my arms around something and hold it close.

For more than a year now, the Lorax has been not only my nighttime companion but my anytime companion as well. Any time I'm feeling so sad and so empty and feeling the loss of Christian so deeply that I can't bear it, I pick up my little yellow fellow and hold him close.

I'm sharing this with you - and I do so with much hesitation - because it is something that has helped me so much and might, I hope, help someone else too. I almost didn't tell you because it is embarrassing for me to admit that I sleep with my arms wrapped around a stuffed animal every night. I can feel the warmth of my husband's body lying next to me but this fulfills a different need. A deeper need. A grieving mother's need.

I would suggest this for anyone but especially for those of you that are emotionally reserved and unable or unwilling to share your feelings and thoughts with others. Get yourself something to hold on to and share your tears with. They never offer advise; never tell you how to live your life; never judge the way you grieve or the length of your grieving process. They just give comfort.