I Feel Like A Stranger

I think one of the most disconcerting things about grief is that the version of me that used to exist seems to have up and run away. The grief I felt when my parents and siblings died was different; it didn’t leave me feeling like a stranger to myself. 

Now it seems there’s someone unfamiliar, a stranger who carries the weight of loss in every step, as though the very act of moving forward requires an impossible effort. This new version of me feels fragmented, shaped by the before and the after, and what will never be again.  The world around me feels somehow muted, as though filtered through a fog that dulls and distorts. It’s kind of weird. Despite these overwhelming feelings, there are moments that seem as though the fragments of who I was are trying to align themselves into a new shape, a new person; one that might be able to bear the weight. Then other days, there’s just no semblance of the old me. 

However, life continues, persists, and occasionally I see hints at the possibility of a future where the jagged edges of loss might soften.  These fleeting moments anchor me to the hope that even in the profound absence, there can be traces of renewal waiting to be found. At least that is my hope. 

Lynn 

Living With Child Loss