The Beginning of Grief

The affects one person has on others is often not known or understood until it is to late.


I think this is definitely true in Patrick's case.  Seven years later, I am still learning of the profound presence he had in others' lives.  It truly amazes me.  Just last year, the counselor at Cottage Grove High School told me she had talked with Patrick shortly before we moved to Oregon.  She told me how impressed she was that he would take the initiative to learn about the kids and the community before taking on his position at Pleasant Hill High School.

The first week after Patrick, Olivia and Runa's deaths was almost a grace period.  There was an infinite amount of support, friends and family milling around our house and around Eugene.  A constant buzz of people filled our little house on East 43rd.   I was never  alone with my own thoughts and it was oddly comforting.

Our refrigerator had enough food in it to feed an army, however, none of it appealed to me.  In that first month I lost about 20 pounds because I just couldn't eat.  Grief has a funny way of showing up in our bodies and for me it was food.

The school memorial service was held that Friday, March 21st in the school gymnasium, right before Spring Break.  The school gym was packed, people were standing in the doorways and the halls.  I chose to sit in the bleachers with the students, instead of in the front row with my family.  I wanted them to know I was there with them, that we were going to pull through this together.  

The whole memorial thing was surreal.  It was almost as if I was having an out of body experience.  I remember sitting in the audience listening to teachers and students talk about Patrick and Olivia and thinking this isn't really happening.  What my brain knew to be the truth had not quite penetrated my heart.

The following day was the memorial for family and friends at Mount Pisgah.  Again, I had no real feeling one way or another about what was happening.  It was as if I were frozen in time.  I think really what was happening was my brain and body were protecting my psyche from what was going to come in tsunami size waves later on.

I started to mark time.  In my journal, I kept tally marks on the inside cover of how many days had pasted since their deaths.  Each week was circled in red ink marking another chunk of time.  As I go back and read my journal, I note that much of that first year was writing about the previous year and what activities we were doing as a family.

As reality slowly dripped into my heart, I felt the gaping hole that existed; the loneliness, the emptiness, the void of laughter, the loss of life.  I felt the affects Patrick, Olivia and Runa had had on my life too late.  I couldn't be grateful, I could only grieve.