Monday, July 10, 2017

Can We Find Joy Again?

I have no pictures of anyone up in our apartment.  I know that is strange, but it's only because I care too much.  If I see photos of loved ones we've lost (people or cats), I feel even sadder than I normally do.  If I see photos of loved ones who are still with us, I just worry about them and/or miss them.  I feel too much all the time, so I'm always trying to avoid feeling even more.  I avoid most dramas (TV or movies), too, for the same reason.  I'd rather watch something incredibly stupid than watch something that makes me feel more.

Sorry, I went off on a tangent.  Seeing my late sister Kim in the photos above just made me think about that whole topic.  

What I wanted to write about was a really good and joyful day that I had about a month ago.  I wish I could buy that joy in a bottle, and also I wish that it was not a harmful substance to ingest.  I'd pay whatever I could afford if I could feel that way again.

If a pill was not available, then I wish I could re-create whatever occurred in my body and mind that day in order for me to feel such joy.  I was out with my husband (which is always great) and we were picking up a few presents to give to Mum for a belated Mother's Day get-together.  I don't know what exactly it was about that day, but I truly haven't felt joy like that in quite a long time.  I felt silly, happy, and fun.  It was a really good few hours, while it lasted.

Joy has been fairly elusive for some of us since Kim passed away.  It's almost five years ago now.  It still hurts just as much.  We've also lost other important people and gone through other serious things.  All of these have put a damper on our ability to feel joy.  We talk about joy, long for it, and try to create it, but for the most part, it eludes us.

Maybe we are doing something wrong.  I don't know.  Maybe we just care too much about those we've lost.  We do try to enjoy life and do things we like to do, but life does feel flatter and more empty with them gone.

Don't get me wrong.  We have people we care about, and my husband and I are so grateful to have each other.  We love each other more and more as the years go by, and we do realize that we are lucky to have that.  Still, it doesn't erase our pain.

I guess I just wish that there was more of an answer to this whole grief thing, but like my husband said a few years ago, "I don't think there is an answer."  I think he is right.  It is just something you live with.  You try to work on doing things you feel passionate about, and enjoy the people who are here, but truly you are forever changed by the losses.

Maybe not everyone is like this.  We know some people who seem to have gone back to "normal" after losing Kim, but not me, my mum, my husband, and Kim's son.

I hope that talking about these things helps anyone who would read them someday.  Maybe if you feel the same types of things you can realize you are not alone.  When you have everyone telling you to "get on with your life," and you try, but the pain still lingers on, you will know there are others out here feeling the same way.

Survivor's Guilt

[My blog posts aren't perfect.  I know that.  But if I try to be perfect, I will never do anything at all.]

It's a strange thing, to feel guilty for being happy or enjoying things.  It happened again to me today.  I was playing a YouTube video of a full B-52's album (easier than popping in my CD, plus it shows lyrics, etc.).

I put this video on...

[click image to go to video] order to get some energy to do some work around the house.  I was enjoying it until I thought about how my late sister Kim also liked the B-52's.  Then I felt guilty for being alive, for dancing around, for enjoying the music at all, when she so obviously couldn't do the same.

Kim wasn't the kind of person who would ever want anyone to feel bad about anything, or to not enjoy their life, yet I still feel this guilt about being happy.  I feel this guilt regarding everyone we've lost, but of course especially when it comes to Kim, because she was my youngest sister and I'll always believe that she should still be here.  I mean, I wish that the older people we've lost could be here, too, but Kim should be with her son.  

I have to keep telling myself that Kim wouldn't want me to feel this way.  Maybe one of these days that truth will get through to me, but for now it's still this way.