We store pain in our body. Stretching and moving our muscles can release it.
JW asked how my husband Charlie was doing. I said… I think pretty well? He doesn’t talk about his sadness and I’m afraid to ask because I don’t want to upset him if he’s not upset. JW made the excellent point that he’s already upset. There’s nothing I can say to him that he’s not already thinking or feeling, he’s just not thinking or feeling it out in the open. We will be stronger if we can share our painful memories, thoughts, and feelings, with each other.
When people say things like, “I don’t know how you’re getting through this,” it creates a separation between the griever and the non-grievers. This apartness just reinforces how lonely a burden Tinsley’s death is to carry by myself — and why sharing this pain with Charlie is so important.
It is normal to enter an extreme spiritual ‘seeking’ mode. I’m trying to gather as much information as I can about where Tinsley might be. My beliefs about God and humans as spiritual beings will likely transform as I move through my grief.
Children and parents sort things out sometimes in parallel. For example, my anxiety about James living through the night (Tinsley died during the night) was compelling me to have him sleep in the bed with me. My other son Charlie was experiencing extreme separation anxiety with me — he never wanted to be in a room alone, even if I were only a few yards away down the hall. He was worried about whether or not I was okay.