Saturday & Sunday, May 13 & 14, 2017 Were You Ever In Korea?

I'm up at stupid o’clock in the morning sick with grief.  Have come to think of this condition as being one of physiological withdrawal, like going cold-turkey off the world’s most powerful drug. It doesn’t matter that you know it’s temporary; it doesn’t matter that you know it’s withdrawal; you still get sick, shake, vomit, and will do anything to make it stop.  You scream and shout and beg god for relief, cry and feel like the whole world is coming to an end, feel like you can’t breathe and you’re dying, everything looks bleak and hopeless.  

There’s a big gaping wound deep in you until the physiological “addiction” hopefully wears off over time.  You cannot talk or rationalize yourself out of it, so IMO just accept the it is going to happen and go through it.  That's all you can do. If you have to curl up and sob or kneel by the side of your bed and pray for an hour, just do it.  Just freaking do it.  Scream, shout, whimper, groan, the hell with it.  IMO it’s best to try not to do it around other people, but sometimes you just gotta throw up whether it gets on other people or not.

Don’t think that because you’re going through withdrawal you lack faith or belief or knowledge that the departed person still exists on the spirit plane, is with you but unseen in the physical, and can see, hear and feel you.  You don’t have to choose between the two intellectually.  You can act out all sorts of aggression and doubts and crazy thoughts and feelings when you go through this kind of physiological withdrawal and none of it means anything.  They are expressions of the havoc your psychological and physical processes are going through acclimating to the new situation.  Don’t beat yourself up about it – the people on the other side know all too well what you are going through and understand.  They are helping you the best they can but, as we know, some crap you just have to go through.

I can’t believe I’ve been writing every day for over a month – has it really been a month?  Finally got a few hours sleep last night, woke up a little sad but not too bad.  Robert brought by the wooden planters yesterday. Ivori Hibiscus trees planted in some big green pots I bought.  I told Ivori about the flower commercial and showed her the video, then showed Robert the video when he came by later.  As Ivori was putting the third tier on the Pyramid, this big black and yellow butterfly kept dancing around her and the pyramid and the witches pot. It was amazing – it would stay near her and land right in front of her, it hung around for at least 5 full minutes just circling around Ivori and all over the pyramid.  She took several pictures. We both knew it was a sign from Irene.

Every time after someone leaves that’s been here for a while I break down and have to kneel beside my bed and have a full-out prayer sobbing session.  I don’t know if I’m taking on their pain or if I’m just feeling the effect of not being able to freely interact with Irene for a duration.  It's probably pain building up because she’s not being involved in the conversation, not being included, and it becomes very clear to me that she’s physically missing because she was always the one doing most of the talking for us, so when people are here it amplifies to my addicted self that her physical body is not here. Then when they leave, I crash.

I don’t feel lonely at all; I just miss her presence terribly, even though I know spiritually and intellectually that she’s here.  I’m so glad I’ve been writing this, because reading back towards the beginning I realize that there is a place where I can feel really good and happy being with her in this kind of relationship.  Whatever the state I was in during much of April is a state I know can exist for us in the future. That gives me hope and comfort as I go through this withdrawal.

I fell like a burden and wish I could be less of a burden on Irene.  It cannot be easy for those on the other side to see the suffering of those they love on this side after they leave, even if they are in a position of better perspective and more spiritual understanding.  I need to be here for her, to support her, to acknowledge her, validate her.  I need to understand she has more going on than just me – she has a lot of kids and grandchildren to help tend, and who knows what else to do that we don’t have any idea of?  How hard must it be on the other side when every time they’re here with us they see or sense our pain and grief?  I hate the thought of demanding too much time and attention from her when I know the kids, other relatives and her friends are hurting as well. 

I hope at some point we can find a normalized, happy state of love and interaction that is good, joyful and fulfilling -  like those first two weeks and like I've experienced here and there since.

Grief is exhausting. I thought that and started laughing.  I did a praying/crying session today, later was trying to do some work and Karl’s voice (Irene's biological dad, passed over many years now) popped in my head, “Good lord, the way you’re carrying on … were you ever in Korea?  I was in Korea.  Now that was some crap worth crying about. My best friend got his head blown off right beside me.  Quit being such a sissy.” I laughed several times thinking of that and finally got to sleep.