Camilleon

I lost my mother close to three months ago. It was not just her loss that devastated us, but the journey through it. She, the one who held us together, slowly withered away due to a very unforgiving cancer. As the months have gone by, it has become harder not to have her here. I often grieve for the pain she went through. She was the sweetest little light to my world, spending time with her was the highlight of my days. I had so much hope that she would recover. I have found it extremely difficult to feel that kind of positive and promising outlook in life as I once did.

Experiencing grief is like getting knocked down and injured during a race. You are given a week or two to recover and are expected to be back on track, but as you get on your feet again and begin to run, you realize you don’t run the same way. What everyone sees as neglectful behavior is really your overall inability to get up to speed with expectations. What seems like anger is, at its core, immense sadness. My refusal to talk about my grief in passing conversations is really a way to keep others from feeling the way I do. Week by week, I recognize that my strides are slower and disorganized, and I’ve questioned my overall ability to run as I used to.

I am trying my best to push through this disillusionment. It will take time, but little by little, I’ll build it back up. I miss her warmth; I miss being loved that way. I have some bright days, and many very gloomy days. There’s a wintry perception that I must elicit somehow. It really doesn’t matter to the world what pain makes you reflect that; they just see that you’re not the same, and they create a whole different version of who you are to them now. It is challenging to reflect joy when your mind is so crowded with thoughts of my shortcomings, regrets, and fears.

My grandfather once told me “a clown has to paint a smile on his face and portray happiness and make everyone smile, even when he’s sad on the inside.” He used to make me reflect on that. He lost the love of his life at in his forties’ and I wonder if that the way he felt. His words are a great reminder that everyone carries hidden struggles and although they portray themselves as being strong or joyful, there’s a whole layer of their story that remains hidden to us.

The only way to make my way through hard times is by acknowledging the pain and allowing it to be what it is and finding a way of sharing it with those around us that may misinterpret our change in behavior.