Grief, Wounds and Scars

Last night I was caught off-guard as a tidal wave of grief swept over me, unannounced. Hundreds of images flooded my mind - images that will never be. Of me holding my son, rocking him, singing to him, changing his diaper, feeding him, loving him. The pain was intense.

I have many wounds. Not just from the last few months but from all the heartache of the last 3 years of my life. The biggest wound is, of course, the loss of my baby boy. I thought I had experienced pain before that, but nothing compared to the intense grief I experienced (and still experience) from losing him.

Wounds tend to heal over time. That is, if they are taken care of. They will eventually go away. But scars don't. They remain forever. Each time I've had a wound, a scar has come up in it's place. I feel so covered in scars I can't see any of myself that I even recognize anymore. My image is marred.

From time to time I have thought about victims of rape and have felt a sort of understanding (in a totally different context, of course) with them. Yes, I realize this is extreme imagery. The main feeling I have been identifying with is violation. I have never felt so violated, so humiliated, so used and tossed away. Not by anyone, but by life. Or by God - but I don't know what I think about that. My innocence has been stolen from me. I will never get it back. That thought is suffocating to me.

I am ruined. The damage is irreparable. I've lost so many pieces of me that I feel as if I am a ghost. A shadow of who I used to be.