How to fill a leaky tank

It’s been a while, dear readers. I just haven’t had the gumption to bother writing much since my daughter’s death in February. However, after a conversation I had yesterday, I found “words” bubbling inside me during my walk and decided it was worth writing down.

I was asked how I planned to “fill my tank” over the summer. The summer break is a much-needed reprieve for teachers, and I suspect for many individuals who need a change from work. Strangely, I was almost confused by the question.

Normally, I would look forward to a vacation, spending time outdoors, or enjoying focused time on one of my creative pursuits. This year, “filling my tank” sounded like a foreign concept. How can you fill a tank that is full of holes? A vessel that is so damaged it leaks like a sieve?

Life is less about filling my tank as it is about filling TIME. I’m in  survival mode, pure and simple. Keep busy. Go through the motions of putting one foot in front of the other. Force yourself to get out of bed each morning. Find distractions. Tire yourself out so you can fall asleep. Then do it again the next day…

That’s my reality. Life right now has very little to do with having fun, finding fulfillment, or recharging one’s batteries. (To mix metaphors.) It is simply about functioning.

I went back to work at the beginning of April and it has been a godsend, although very difficult some days. I needed ways to fill time that gave me purpose outside myself. Similarly, my husband and I pastor our church. Again, this has been a blessing in that serving others and staying busy through church activities has been a way to get through the day. While sometimes it feels overly busy, busyness provides a much needed distraction.

I’ve come to hate the inevitable question, “How are you doing?” How do you THINK I’m doing? I’m grieving the loss of my child! It’s the most inexpressible pain imaginable! 

Sometimes I answer truthfully, but mostly I go for a noncommittal shrug or simple, “Okay.” Sometimes I even utter some nonsense about, “moving forward”. To onlookers, I likely look like I’m “doing well”. I smile, I converse, I laugh at the appropriate times.

The question is asked in two different ways, both can be as irritating. First, it’s asked with deep concern, as if the “grief journey” has an expiration date and they want to know if I’m nearing its completion. The second way is even worse since its used as a general greeting which doesn’t actually require an answer. It totally minimizes my current grief and my daughter’s life. I’m sure I’m being too hard on people, but it really highlights for me just how much people don’t get it.

Back to the leaky tank metaphor, whoever said, “I’ve cried so much, all the tears have dried up,” has never lost a child. My well has not run dry. I suspect it never will, although I am getting better at learning to turn off the faucet, or at least control the volume of flow.

I don’t want to come across as jaded or ungrateful. I actually feel like a rock star most days simply because I am able to get out of bed and function. I appreciate all the support and prayers of so many. I’m told that the pain will lessen with time, although wise people who have actually lost children tell me it never actually goes away. You just learn to carry it. Grieving is a messy, irrational, unpredictable business which has no timeline or playbook.

I’m also told that life will have meaning and joy again. I look forward to that day. Of course, I “enjoy” spending time with my surviving children and eleven grandchildren. It’s likely the one thing that has actually kept me going beyond staying busy. But I’m looking forward to a day when I wake up and feel inspired; excited about what the day brings; excited to write, to create, to live.

Until then, the leaks need patching. Some holes may never be totally stopped up. But I’m hopeful that the tank will once again hold water, maybe needing more frequent filling, but still having some use, like watering the flowers on my daughter’s grave.